


On Trust

by rubyofkukundu



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spoilers, loss of free will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-12 00:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 43,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11725320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyofkukundu/pseuds/rubyofkukundu
Summary: John Childermass unexpectedly finds himself in possession of one of Mr Segundus' most important belongings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This story contains spoilers for the end of the book.
> 
> ***
> 
> Written for the following prompt from [wobbly-headed-girl](http://wobbly-headed-girl.tumblr.com):  
> What if Segundus is victim of some fairy magic and lose all will, a bit like a marionette (or maybe he is really conscious and just can't resist orders), and Childermass tries to help him through this and make sure no one takes advantage of the situation (...but him).

In the year 1817, one Thursday morning in March saw two men ensconced in a bed-chamber at the Old Starre Inn in York. Of the two men, one of them (thin and hawklike, with ragged hair and a dirty, grey shirt) was in bed and fast asleep. The other (dark of hair and eye and with something twisted in his face, though it was difficult to say precisely what) was sitting at a small desk beside the window and writing down a plan for what he meant to do next.

John Childermass (for that was the name of the man at the desk) had the previous night shown the wonder that was Vinculus (for that was the name of the man in the bed) to the newly re-founded York Society of Magicians. There had been, to put it mildly, uproar. And, surely, was this not to be expected? When the York Society had discovered that Vinculus' skin was covered in markings, and that these markings were purportedly the writings of John Uskglass, the Raven King, there was hardly a man between them who had known what to do with this astonishing information.

Some people might have found the chaos and the pushing and the shouting that had ensued to have been rather alarming. John Childermass, however, had merely smiled, as if this had been just the sort of reaction that he had hoped for.

And what had been Childermass' motive in revealing Vinculus' secret in this way? It had been clear from his actions that evening that he held most magicians in contempt, so why had he wished to gather them together? Well, when one finds oneself in possession of a complex and unknown text, written in a complex and unknown script, one soon discovers that deciphering said text on one's own is nigh on impossible. What better way to acquire assistance than to ask one of the oldest magical societies in England?

It must be said that no word of Uskglass' book had been translated on that first meeting of the newly re-founded York Society (why, it's surprising that anyone had been able to understand anything at all above the clamour of voices), but Childermass was not foolish enough to expect the translation to be quite so quick in forthcoming. What _had_ happened, however, was that the world now knew about Childermass' quest (for if the York Society knew, then it would only be a matter of time before accounts were passed on to the rest of England, and indeed to the rest of the Empire). Admittedly, most magicians were so quarrelsome that expecting cooperation between them on any project was a rather tall order, but Childermass fancied that there were enough sensible minds out there to make it worthwhile stirring up the whole lot of them, chaff and all.

Upon the open page of Childermass' memorandum book, as he sat at the desk that morning, was a list of places (or perhaps a list of magical societies): "Ripon, Darlington, Durham, Newcastle".

Childermass sat back and tapped the end of his pen to his lips, then he leant forward again and added "Carlisle, Kendal, Lancaster".

As he was writing this last he experienced, suddenly, a curious sensation, almost as if someone had reached across and tugged sharply at one of the short hairs upon the back of his neck (though there was no-one around to do so, for Vinculus remained fast asleep). Childermass started in his chair and turned around where he sat. As he did so, something on the floor beside the bed happened to catch his eye: a glinting sort of something.

Frowning, Childermass got up from his desk and walked over. Yet when he reached the object he frowned still more, for there upon the floor, lying rather closer to Vinculus' discarded breeches than was pleasant, was, of all things, a golden locket.

Evidently, Vinculus had been picking people's pockets again.

Childermass sighed. How could the magicians of the land be expected to help Childermass with his work when Vinculus thought fit to steal from them? (Though Childermass had to admit that with so many people crowding and jostling around Vinculus at the previous night's meeting, and most of them rather rudely, it was easy to see where the temptation to pick a few pockets had come from.)

With another sigh, Childermass bent down and picked the locket up, thinking to return it to its owner with an apology (the sincerity of the apology no doubt depending upon the identity of the owner and Childermass' particular opinion of them). The locket, circular in shape, was slightly warm in his palm and had a pleasant weight to it, but beyond that it was rather plain: the surface contained no initials nor other marks to suggest who it might have belonged to, and neither did the chain. Thus, hoping to find some identifying portrait or writing inside the locket, Childermass opened it.

Of pictures and text within, there were none; all the locket held was a tightly-curled lock of hair, black for the most part, but mixed with a quantity of grey.

Yet what a funny thing! Despite the lack of initials or engravings, Childermass found that he knew the hair, and thus the locket's owner, on an instant: it was the hair of Mr Segundus (one of the members of the newly re-founded York Society of Magicians, and a man that Childermass had thought fit to keep an eye on over the past ten years or so). It could not have belonged to anyone else!

That Vinculus had apparently found it acceptable to pick the pockets of Mr Segundus left Childermass feeling rather more irritated than before. He cast a glare at Vinculus (who was still snoring upon the bed) and carried the locket over to the desk so that he might inspect it in the light of the window.

Of all the people to steal from! Not only was Mr Segundus hardly so rich as most of the other magicians present at the meeting, he was also one of the few who had shown Vinculus any sort of kindness. Why, as the York Society, almost as one, had surged forth and had begun poking and prodding and plucking at Vinculus' skin (something Childermass had been content to let them do, for he knew that Vinculus was quite able to hold his own amongst a crowd), Mr Segundus, along with his friend Mr Honeyfoot, had hung back. Indeed, Mr Segundus had soon turned fully away from Vinculus and had instead started asking after Childermass' health and wellbeing.

Childermass gave out a wry smile at the memory of how genuinely concerned Mr Segundus had seemed about the cut upon Childermass' cheek (which had been a huge gash when Mr Segundus had seen him last, but was now only a thin, silvery scar). Once satisfied that Childermass was well upon that account, Mr Segundus had then set to asking how Childermass was faring after the loss of Mr Norrell, if Childermass and Vinculus had a place to stay, if they had friends to help them, etc., etc., etc.

At the time, Childermass had found such interest in his own welfare to be rather disarming, though, looking back on it, he could see that Mr Segundus had only meant well. And, indeed, had any of the other members thought to treat Childermass as if he were his own person with his own needs that must be met, rather than merely as Mr Norrell's ex-servant? No; they had not.

Childermass had, however, soon steered Mr Segundus' conversation onto the more comfortable waters of Vinculus and the King's book. Set upon this topic, Mr Segundus had, naturally, enquired after the circumstances surrounding Childermass' discovery of Vinculus' writings and, upon having the tale recounted to him, Mr Segundus had then entered upon a number of theories and suggestions that were so interesting and so thought-provoking that Childermass had been surprised, once their conversation had subsided, to find that the hour had suddenly grown late and that the other members of the Society had already begun to leave for their homes. (For, of course, very few of the members of the Society had thought it worth their while to take their leave of Childermass, a mere _servant_ , on their way out of the meeting; and this despite the fact that without Childermass there would not have been a meeting in the first place!)

Once the room had cleared a little, Mr Segundus had then, finally, made his way over to Vinculus and had politely enquired whether Vinculus might endure being perused by one more poor scholar? Vinculus, at that point on his sixth mug of gin and hot water, had been quite happy to be the centre of attention for a while longer, and thus Mr Segundus, and Mr Honeyfoot too, had set to inspecting the writing upon him, accompanied by many "sorry"s and "I do beg your pardon"s and "would you be so kind as to raise your?"s.

At the end of this inspection Mr Honeyfoot had been all animation but Mr Segundus had worn a quiet and thoughtful expression. Childermass had asked Mr Segundus how he had found the King's book, but Mr Segundus had merely said that he would need to think over it before he came to any conclusions; and then, thanking Childermass for the opportunity, and expressing a wish that they might be granted a similar opportunity in the future, if it was not too much trouble to Childermass to arrange such a thing, Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot had made their goodbyes and left.

Childermass had been rather quiet and thoughtful himself as he had watched them go, for, to own the truth, Childermass had found himself disappointed that he had not been able to hear Mr Segundus' opinions upon Vinculus immediately. This disappointment was surely no surprise; after all, was it not the case that, for all the fools there were to be found in the York Society, there were yet a few sensible minds amongst them whom Childermass had hoped would help him with what he was now beginning to consider "his great work"? And had not Mr Segundus' mind been the chief of those whose help Childermass had thought to seek?

Unfortunate, then, that the one magician Vinculus had chosen to steal from was Mr Segundus! (Quite surprising too, truth be told, for by the time Mr Segundus had got to him, Vinculus had had very little coordination of any sort remaining.) Childermass' only hope, it seems, was in trusting that Mr Segundus' good nature would prevent his growing too angry if his property was duly restored to him.

Childermass looked at the locket and its curl of hair some more, turning it this way and that. There was nothing inside the locket proclaiming the hair to be Mr Segundus' (and doubtless there were many other men present the previous night whose hair was black with a quantity of grey) but Childermass felt certain that Mr Segundus' it was, though where this certainty came from Childermass did not know.

A thought then crossed Childermass' mind, which caused him to frown rather deeply. If the hair inside the locket came from Mr Segundus' own head, then why did Mr Segundus carry the locket himself? (For who wishes to wear a keepsake of themselves?) Perhaps, then, the locket hadn't been in Mr Segundus' pocket at all, but had instead been given by Mr Segundus to one of the other members of the York Society (though Childermass found this thought rather distasteful). Or perhaps the locket had been intended to have been passed on to one of the member's daughters and had been lost before it could ever reach its intended recipient? Perhaps, indeed, the locket had been intended for one of Mr Honeyfoot's daughters? (Mr Honeyfoot had one unmarried daughter remaining, did he not?) Childermass discovered that he found this last option the most distasteful of all.

And yet... And yet, there was something about this locket that professed it to have been in the keeping of Mr Segundus and no-one else; it was his and his alone. God knows why anyone would wish to keep a lock of their own hair upon their person, but there was something about the feel of the locket, the weight of it, the gold metal, that made Childermass feel certain that this was the case. (Indeed, there was something about the way the locket felt in Childermass palm that spoke entirely of Segundus: a warm, pleasant feeling; a resonance that was as soft and worn and comfortable as an old shirt that had been heated before a fire.) The locket belonged to Mr Segundus, Childermass was certain of it, and though it felt good and right for Childermass to hold it, he knew that it needed to be returned to its rightful owner.

As Childermass was thus musing upon the locket and its owner, there came a knock upon the chamber door, which led to Vinculus' letting out an unintelligible groan and rolling over in the bed.

With a start, as if he had been found doing something he should not, Childermass slipped the locket into the pocket of his breeches. He then rose and opened the door.

On the other side stood a boy wearing a livery that Childermass recognised. "Beg pardon, sir," said the boy, "but Mr Honeyfoot wishes me to take you to his house in High-Petergate." 

Childermass snorted. "If Mr Honeyfoot would like to spend more time with the King's book, then he can make an appointment to wait upon me at a more convenient time. I will not be at every magician's idle beck and call."

The boy in livery was frowning. "A book? Beg pardon again, sir, but Mr Honeyfoot said nothing about a book. It is Mr Honeyfoot's friend, sir: Mr Segundus. He has been taken ill and Mr Honeyfoot wishes for you to come and see him."

Childermass' stomach turned over. He looked at the boy. "Mr Segundus? Ill?"

The boy nodded. "Aye, sir."

"Is it dire?"

"The house is all in commotion, sir."

Cursing, Childermass told the boy to wait. He quickly returned his memorandum book to his coat pocket, pulled on his overcoat, took up his hat and followed the boy out into the corridor.

Outside on the street the sun was bright and the air was rather warm for the time of year. This did not help Childermass' mood. He put on his hat, tugged on his gloves and glowered at the people they passed. Everyone seemed to be quite happy going about their normal business, as if this were a fine day and nothing at all was the matter.

"I'm not a physician," said Childermass to the boy.

"Mr Honeyfoot was certain that I must fetch you," replied the boy, rather defensively. "Besides, a physician will be no use, for one has already been and gone."

"What is wrong with Mr Segundus, then?" asked Childermass. "What did the physician say?"

The boy shrugged.

It seems that the boy had been right when he had told Childermass that the Honeyfoots' household was all in commotion. Indeed, Mr Honeyfoot himself seemed so animated by emotion that he was out in the street, some seventy yards from his house, hatless and in his house shoes and banyan, waiting for Childermass to arrive.

"Oh, thank goodness you are here!" cried Mr Honeyfoot, rushing to Childermass as quick as he was able and falling into step beside him. "We do not at all know what to do! He grows worse and worse, even though Barnby has been and prescribed a powder, and Mrs Honeyfoot is certain we must get another opinion. Oh, and to see how feverish he looks! I would ask Mr Williams (he is the surgeon, you know) but he is out of town with his sister, and Anne thought to make up a draught, but there is no tamarind to be had anywhere, yet if we don't do anything I fear that..."

"Stop! Stop! Slow down!" interrupted Childermass, for he had neither the resolve nor the patience at that moment to put up with babbling. "What is it you are saying? Mr Segundus is ill in your house?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Mr Honeyfoot. "Yes! Oh, the poor man! He was in town for the meeting of the Society, and of course he stays with us whenever he..."

"What is wrong with him?" asked Childermass.

"We do not know!" replied Mr Honeyfoot, taking out a handkerchief and rubbing his forehead. "It appears to be some sort of fever. Barnby (he's our physician) says he has not seen the like. Why, and he has been barely conscious all morning, and his cheeks grow paler and paler, and his breathing has grown so thin! Oh, Mr Childermass, there must be something you can do!"

Childermass huffed. "So that is why you have called me: you think I might do some magic to help?" He gave Mr Honeyfoot a look that was rather accusatory. "Though I don't see why you do not try yourself. Are you a magician, Mr Honeyfoot, or not?"

Mr Honeyfoot flushed red. "I have tried all the healing spells that I know!" he protested. "But as you are familiar with Mr Norrell's library, I thought that you might... and Mr Segundus holds your knowledge in very high regard, you know, and... well, to tell the truth, he has said nothing in his fever save repeat you name."

Childermass stopped dead. " _My_ name?"

Mr Honeyfoot had walked some paces before he realised that Childermass was no longer beside him. "Yes!" cried Mr Honeyfoot, returning to Childermass. "Yes! Yes! He has been calling for you. Now, please hurry, do." He then took hold of Childermass' arm and all but dragged him into the house.

It did indeed seem like a household that was in alarm. As they passed the morning room Childermass saw that breakfast stood half-eaten upon the table, with seemingly no attempt having been made by the servants to clear it up. One of the maids ran past them up the stairs carrying a basin of water, and the rest of the staff appeared to be milling around in various locations, speaking in low voices.

"Please. Make way! Make way!" said Mr Honeyfoot as he pushed through a crowd of three at the top of the staircase. "Do you not have things to do? Where is Anne? In the kitchen? Well, help her then. And ask Fletcher to air out the house. We need more air!"

Mr Honeyfoot led Childermass quickly through two small bed-chambers that did not seem to be in use and stopped outside what was presumably a third. Here Mr Honeyfoot's hurry seemed to leave him entirely. He turned and gave Childermass a grave look. "We must be quiet for his sake, if you please." Then Mr Honeyfoot opened the door.

The room within was a bed-chamber a little larger than the last they had passed through. A chill draught blew in from an open window. The maid that had passed them on the stairs was at the lit fireplace, passing her basin of water to a lady that Childermass knew to be Mrs Honeyfoot. An empty seat beside the bed, with some discarded needlework upon its arm, spoke of the watch Mrs Honeyfoot had been keeping.

And the bed itself? It was but a small thing, without curtains but dressed with pretty blue blankets. You could almost imagine it to be a comfortable place if it weren't for the fact that Mr Segundus, the bed's occupant, did not seem comfortable at all.

The collar of his nightshirt was tugged and rumpled, giving him the look of a person who had been dressed while unconscious; his cheeks were pale, blotched with pink; and his dark hair stuck to his forehead. Even though he appeared at that moment to be asleep, his face, on which Childermass was used to seeing a mild and rather thoughtful look, was at that moment scrunched as if he was experiencing some deal of pain. The rise and fall of his thin chest beneath the blankets was accompanied by a rasping breath.

Mrs Honeyfoot looked up from what she was doing. "Oh! Might this be Mr Childermass?" said she. "Thank goodness you are here!"

Childermass took off his hat and gloves and bowed. "Your husband expressed the same relief, madam, though I do not see what I can do." He looked to the bed and thought about how he'd seen many people, mostly children, wear that same expression with that same blotched complexion. They had rarely lasted for more than a few days.

It is funny, is it not? how the process of grieving can start before someone is even gone. Something in Childermass' throat hurt, and on an impulse he thrust a hand into his breeches pocket and curled his fingers around the warm weight of Segundus' locket there. It was quite probable that the lock of hair within that locket would soon be the only part of Mr Segundus left above ground.

"You do not see what you can do?" asked Mrs Honeyfoot as she dismissed the maid and sat back down in the chair beside the bed. "But I thought you were doing magic to help him already, Mr Childermass! Why, his breathing has become very much easier in the last few moments before you arrived."

"Easier?" asked Childermass in alarm. "Then it was worse than this?"

"Yes," said Mr Honeyfoot, nodding. "Now you see why the case has been so urgent."

There was a noise of shifting sheets as Mr Segundus twisted in the bed. He pressed his face into the pillow and mumbled something that sounded like "...dermass."

In that moment Childermass found both Mr and Mrs Honeyfoot looking at him.

Childermass instead looked to Mr Segundus. "What is wrong with him?" Childermass asked. "When did this start?" He remembered the quiet, thoughtful look upon Mr Segundus' face as he had left the Old Starre Inn the night before. "Was he ill last night?"

"Oh no," said Mr Honeyfoot. "At least I do not think so, for he seemed quite well at breakfast. He went out this morning to see to some business for his... ah." Mr Honeyfoot stopped short, and Childermass turned to see him flushing red and exchanging a look with his wife.

Childermass sighed. "For his school for magicians," he supplied, when it seemed clear that Mr Honeyfoot wasn't going to continue himself. "The one he means to open with Mrs Lennox at Starecross Hall."

Mr Honeyfoot flushed some more. "You know?" he asked. "That is... I had thought that after... Or rather, I did not know that Mr Segundus had mentioned it to..."

"I like to keep an eye upon matters," returned Childermass. He sighed again and gave Mr Honeyfoot what he hoped would be a reassuring smile (though it was probably little more than a baring of teeth). "You may rest assured, Mr Honeyfoot, that I do not mean to close down Mr Segundus' school a second time. I happen to think it a very good idea that he open one."

Mr Honeyfoot's eyes widened. "You do? But then why did you see fit to close it down the first time if you...?" He was stopped by an exclamation from his wife

"Oh!" Mrs Honeyfoot was leaning close to her patient, watching him with attention. "Oh!" she cried again. "His breathing sounds ever so much easier of a sudden! Do you not think so?"

All fell silent to listen, and it was true: Mr Segundus' breathing did not have any of the rasping quality to it any more. Indeed, when looking at him it almost seemed as if the movements of his chest were more even also.

"Thank the Lord!" cried Mr Honeyfoot. He made his way over to the bedside and, after some moments, knelt down (with difficulty) and took Mr Segundus' hand in his own.

Mr Segundus' face, which was perhaps now less blotched than it had been, scrunched up further. "...ildermass," he muttered.

"Where did he go this morning?" asked Childermass.

Mr Honeyfoot started at the question, as if he had already forgotten Childermass' presence. "Oh!," said he, turning to Childermass. "I do not know. He talked about purchasing some articles for the school (paper or some such) and said he would not be long. Then some half an hour later, Jane (that is our daughter, you know) and her husband came knocking upon the door. Mr Buckthorne (that is, Jane's husband) and a shopboy were carrying Mr Segundus between them, for he was in a swoon. Jane said they had seen him stumbling about at the crossroads between Stonegate and High-Petergate where he had then collapsed to the floor. So Mr Buckthorne had called up the shopboy and they had carried him here. He was evidently in a fever, but when Barnby, our physician, visited he said he did not at all know what was wrong with..."

At that moment there issued a long breath, almost like a sigh, from the bed, followed quickly by another.

Mr Honeyfoot neglected his narration in favour of turning his attention back to Mr Segundus, and they all of them watched, in quite some surprise, as Mr Segundus' eyelids flickered and then opened.

The joy upon the faces of Mr and Mrs Honeyfoot was instantaneous. Mr Honeyfoot clasped Mr Segundus' hand firmly with both of his own, and Mrs Honeyfoot clasped Mr Honeyfoot's shoulders in turn.

"Oh! My dear!" cried Mrs Honeyfoot, as she hugged her husband. "He is awake!"

If Mr Segundus heard this, he did not show it. Indeed, it seemed that he was taking some time to collect his thoughts. After several moments he looked down at the hands upon his own, then up to their owner. "Mr Honeyfoot," he said faintly.

"Yes!" exclaimed Mr Honeyfoot, patting Mr Segundus' hand some more. "Oh, yes! My dear sir! I am so glad! I am so very glad!

"Ah," said Mr Segundus. He looked to the face beaming at him over Mr Honeyfoot's shoulder, and returned its smile. "Mrs Honeyfoot." (He received another broad smile from that lady for his trouble.)

Finally, Mr Segundus rolled slowly onto his back (wincing as he did so) and frowned out at the room. This frown decreased when he laid eyes upon the final person present. "Mr Childermass."

Childermass nodded. He felt, looking at that small body in that small bed, as if he had just run thrice around the city. Indeed, beneath the beating of his heart, Childermass found himself filled with that same warm feeling that results from a spell of physical exercise. It was relief, that feeling, surely (though tainted with caution, for one moment of consciousness does not a recovery make), and yet the warm glow might not have been coming from within Childermass alone, for Childermass still had a hand in his breeches pocket, curled around the locket he had placed there, and the locket itself felt warm: so very warm and pleasant.

Before he knew what he was doing, Childermass found himself drawing the locket from his pocket. He stared down at it and then held it out. "Mr Segundus," said he, "is this yours?"

"Oh." Mr Segundus breathed out. "Thank goodness. You have it," said he with a smile. "It worked."


	2. Chapter 2

Childermass, frowning, looked from the locket in his hand to Mr Segundus. "You mean to say," said Childermass, "that you wanted me to find this keepsake?" What a surprising thought, to consider that Childermass might be the intended recipient of such a token!

"Keepsake?" asked Mr Segundus, looking rather confused.

Childermass' stomach dropped. Ah. Of course. "Forgive me," said Childermass. "I call it a keepsake merely because a lock of hair is generally..." Here, Childermass had to pause to open the locket and show its contents to Mr and Mrs Honeyfoot, for they had both crowded around him in eagerness to see the locket and what it was about.

"Oh," said Mr Segundus, after raising his head to peer at the locket himself, then dropping back against the pillow. "So that is the form it has taken?" He gave a small, tired smile, and looked up to meet Childermass' eye. "It is I who should apologise, Mr Childermass." Mr Segundus took a breath. "I did not explain myself. The locket you hold is no mere keepsake." He gave another weary smile. "It is my soul."

Childermass nearly dropped the locket to the floor, so great was his surprise. He stared wonderingly at Mr Segundus.

"Good heavens!" cried Mr Honeyfoot. "My dear Mr Segundus! This is your soul?" He reached out as if to touch the locket, then paused and glanced once at Childermass then once at Mr Segundus. "May I?" asked Mr Honeyfoot.

Mr Segundus nodded. "You may."

Thus Mr Honeyfoot took up the locket from Childermass and held it very gingerly so that he might inspect it (with Mrs Honeyfoot meanwhile looking over his shoulder). "I have never seen anything like it, sir!" exclaimed Mr Honeyfoot. "The skill it must have taken to create!" He looked to Mr Segundus. "What spell did you use? You must tell us all the details."

Mr Segundus shook his head. "I am afraid I do not remember the spell."

"You do not?" asked Mr Honeyfoot. "But how could..."

"Mr Segundus," said Childermass. "Where did you go this morning?"

"Ah." For a moment Mr Segundus looked rather guilty. "I am afraid you will think me foolish." He raised a hand and pressed it to his brow (where it trembled a little). "I will tell all, but first, may I have a sip of water? I find myself very thirsty."

This threw both Mr and Mrs Honeyfoot into alarm, as they discovered that they had neglected Mr Segundus' feeble state in favour of their curiosity. Mr Honeyfoot rang the bell for a servant, and when the maid arrived, sent her off for water. Mrs Honeyfoot, meanwhile, fluttered about the bedside, making sure that Mr Segundus' blankets and pillows were arranged to his satisfaction, and asking if he were too hot or too cold or if there was anything else she could do to make him comfortable.

Mr Segundus accepted all this attention good-naturedly, though too much movement of his person seemed to make him rather weary. Finally, a jug of water was brought in and Mr Segundus drank down two glasses-full. While this was taking place, the maid was sent off to bring in some more chairs so that Mr Honeyfoot and Childermass might join Mrs Honeyfoot in sitting by the bedside.

As Childermass removed his overcoat and sat down, Mr Honeyfoot returned the locket to him. The sense of warmth and comfort that the locket imparted as soon as it was once again in Childermass' grasp was quite shocking in its intensity; Childermass found he was very much glad to have possession of it again. Could it be that Mr Honeyfoot had felt the same contentedness when he had held it? Childermass curled his fingers around the locket and clasped it, safe.

After Mr Segundus had drunk his water and had been raised slightly in the bed by the application of further pillows, he took some moments merely to catch his breath. Then, addressing himself to Childermass, he said, "I imagine, Mr Childermass, that you know of my intention once again to open a school at Starecross Hall."

Mr Segundus' manner was entirely polite, yet Childermass found himself feeling rather discomfited, regardless. He nodded and told Mr Segundus that he had indeed known of such an intention.

This resulted in a small smile from Mr Segundus, as if he had not expected anything else. "I thought to use my time in town to purchase some supplies for the school," said Mr Segundus, casting his gaze to the wall behind Childermass. "In particular, I need a good stock of paper, and this morning I set out in search of some." Here, Mr Segundus closed his eyes. After a breath, he continued, "I used to buy my paper from Williamson's in Stonegate, but I know that Mrs Lennox, my patroness, would not approve." He looked to Childermass. "You are familiar with Williamson's, I imagine? Though I doubt Mr Norrell will have bought his paper there."

Childermass, who knew very well that Mr Segundus used to buy his paper from Williamson's, and who also knew very well the many disparaging things that Mr Norrell had to say about such a mean, little establishment, merely nodded.

"Mrs Lennox wishes to have supplies of the best quality, you see," said Mr Segundus, "so I find I have to look around to find those that will suit; she does not seem to mind how much I spend." He looked up to Mrs Honeyfoot at his side. "It is not at all what I am used to; I fear I am... hm... rather inadequate to the task."

In response, Mrs Honeyfoot reached across and patted his hand.

Mr Segundus closed his eyes again, and seemed to spend a few moments just breathing. When, once again, he opened his eyes, he said, "Thus this morning I ignored Williamson's and instead visited all the other stationers I could find. The paper they sold was good enough, I suppose, but the quality didn't seem to match the... ah... high prices." His face adopted a slightly sheepish expression as he looked to Childermass. "You must think me far too particular, sir. But I have discovered that spending another's money is..." He yawned. "...so very different to spending one's own. The responsibility is so much the greater."

Childermass nodded again.

"And so," continued on Mr Segundus, "I thought to expand my search away from Stonegate... For perhaps there are stationers in... in York that I do not know of. And having been away from... oh, from town for some time, I find that all sorts of things have... have... changed in my..." Here he stared at the wall in a rather absent fashion, as if his thoughts were falling away from him.

"Mr Segundus?" prompted Mr Honeyfoot after some moments.

"Oh," said Mr Segundus, yawning. "Yes. As I say, I was just turning from Stonegate to to... Petergate when I found there was a little marketplace I had never... It was a courtyard leading off from the crossroads that I had... Not once had I seen... It had all sorts of..." He sighed. "...of stalls. And I... It was not... You see..." Mr Segundus returned to his absent contemplation of the wall and a short while afterwards he closed his eyes. The rise and fall of his chest grew slow and even.

The remaining occupants of the room looked at each other.

"Mr Segundus?" prompted Mr Honeyfoot again, but this time there was no response.

"Bless me," said Mrs Honeyfoot. "I believe he has fallen asleep." She looked to the bed. "He must be so very tired."

"He seems better, though; do you think?" asked Mr Honeyfoot. "Is he not more comfortable than he was before?"

Mrs Honeyfoot nodded. "He certainly seems more peaceful."

"Could it be that he has grown better now that his soul has been returned to him?" asked Mr Honeyfoot.

Childermass uncurled his fingers and looked at the locket in his palm. It glinted in the light from the window, seemingly untarnished from where he had held it. If it truly was Mr Segundus' soul, then surely Mr Segundus had not meant for Childermass to have it. For what reason did Mr Segundus have to trust Childermass with such a thing? Perhaps Mr Segundus had meant merely for Childermass to pass the soul to Mr Honeyfoot. Yet Childermass did not like the idea of relinquishing the locket so soon, even if it were to go to Mr Honeyfoot; it was such a warm, pretty thing.

"You must have heard," Mr Honeyfoot was saying, "of West Down Jack, Mr Childermass. Did they not say he collected up the souls of five men and could control everything they did?"

Childermass looked up with a frown. "I beg your pardon?"

"West Down Jack," repeated Mr Honeyfoot. "You know of him, I am sure. Did he not control men by collecting up their souls?"

Childermass' chest felt tight. "I have read the accounts," he acknowledged

"The original accounts?" exclaimed Mr Honeyfoot. "Oh, how wonderful they must be to read! And did they not suggest (for I fancy they must have done) that to own a soul means to control a man?"

"I am not West Down Jack," said Childermass.

This appeared to send Mr Honeyfoot into thought for some moments. "Perhaps you are right," he said. "Perhaps it is magic that only fairies can perform."

Childermass looked down at the locket with a sense of unease. "I hope so, Mr Honeyfoot." He took a breath in attempt to slow the racing of his heart. "This market that Mr Segundus mentioned," said he, "in a courtyard at the crossroads between Stonegate and Petergate..."

"Why yes," said Mr Honeyfoot. "Was that not odd? I do not at all know what market he means." He looked to Mrs Honeyfoot. "My dear, do you know of such a courtyard?"

Mrs Honeyfoot shook her head. "Perhaps Mr Segundus was mistaken as to where he was?"

"But, my dear," said Mr Honeyfoot, "Mr Segundus so rarely gets lost. And in York of all places!"

"I have heard of this courtyard before," continued Childermass.

Both Mr and Mrs Honeyfoot turned to him.

"Have you not read about it?" Childermass asked Mr Honeyfoot. "Before the fourteenth century there were several references to it: a marketplace, south of the cathedral, which could only be entered at certain times of the year."

"Oh!" Mr Honeyfoot's eyes widened. "You cannot mean... But I thought the tales of a fairy market were only hearsay."

"Forgive me, Mr Childermass," said Mrs Honeyfoot, "are you saying one can get to the other lands from Stonegate?"

"I do not know, madam," replied Childermass. "But it would not be the first fairy road to have reopened this year."

"Is that not very dangerous?" Mrs Honeyfoot looked to her husband in alarm. "Oh, my dear, what of Jane? What if Jane and Mr Buckthorne entered the fairy road by mistake on their way home? And she in her state! And did not Anne say she would take Sarah with her to enquire further about some tamarind? What if they come across the market?" Mrs Honeyfoot stood. "I must go and..."

Yet before Mrs Honeyfoot could take more than a few steps, she was stopped by Mr Honeyfoot, who took her hand and pressed it.

"My love," said Mr Honeyfoot. "I shall go after Anne and Jane to warn them against the market. You should stay here, for Mr Segundus' sake. I know he will feel glad to see you when he wakes." Mr Honeyfoot smiled. "Do not fret. I shall make my warnings suitably grave so that they must take heed. All will be well."

"As you wish," acquiesced Mrs Honeyfoot. She covered Mr Honeyfoot's hand with her own. "But you will please also give your warnings to..." and here Mrs Honeyfoot gave her husband a long list of messages that must be sent and answers that must be received.

Once Mr Honeyfoot had left the room to follow these instructions, Mrs Honeyfoot leaned her head out of the window (perhaps to see if she could peer down High-Petergate and so see the mysterious courtyard for herself). "Oh, to think that poor Mr Segundus has ventured into the other lands!" said she as she left the window and sat back down. "Is that what caused his illness, do you think, Mr Childermass?"

"I can only conjecture, madam," replied Childermass. "Nothing more." He looked to the sleeping form of Mr Segundus. "But were Mr Segundus to enter Faerie, I fancy he would acquit himself far better than many other magicians were they in the same position."

Mrs Honeyfoot regarded Childermass with an air of anticipation, as if she were waiting for him to explain this statement or to say something further about Mr Segundus and his unfortunate situation, but she must have been disappointed, for Childermass, still watching Mr Segundus, said no more.

Childermass, for his part, was so taken up with his thoughts that he barely noticed Mrs Honeyfoot's inquisitive look, and he certainly did not notice when she began to occupy herself with her needlework once again. He considered how much the world was changed, so that even a place as constant as York had not avoided it. Could it truly be that a fairy market now stood in the centre of the city? If it did, Childermass was not surprised that Mr Segundus had unwittingly found it. No; Childermass was surprised only that Mr Segundus had not stumbled into Faerie before.

Lying there in the bed, Mr Segundus did indeed look more peaceful than he had done earlier. His hair was still stuck to his forehead but the colour in his cheeks was even and his breathing was deep and calm. Yet how small he looked! How thin! And had it not always been so?

Ever since Childermass had first known him there had been something delicate about Mr Segundus. Not only was he small and thin, but there was also a kind of faintness to him: an insubstantiality. Mr Segundus was the sort of person who, if you weren't paying attention (which most people cared not to do), appeared almost to fade into the background. Doubtless one would fancy this due to his quietness and natural modesty, but to Childermass there was another reason: for all the world, it only ever seemed as if Mr Segundus were half present.

It was as if Mr Segundus lived his life with one foot in England and one foot somewhere else entirely (though Mr Segundus never appeared to notice that this was the case himself). Childermass fancied almost that he could see it upon Mr Segundus whenever he looked at him: a potential to disappear, as people did in the old stories. Indeed, Childermass had never been able to fully discount the worrying possibility that one day he would turn to find that Mr Segundus had gone forever.

When, a few weeks earlier, Childermass had come upon Mr Segundus in the thick of Lady Pole's enchantment, Childermass had been alarmed at how faint the magic had left Mr Segundus and how easily it had seemed as if he might have floated or faded away. But while Childermass had been alarmed, he had not been particularly surprised. What was surprising, instead, was that Mr Segundus had passed his life (until this moment, that is) seemingly unharmed by Faerie.

It was partly this concern for Mr Segundus' welfare that had persuaded Childermass to keep a regular watch over where Mr Segundus was and what he was doing. After all, the day England lost Mr Segundus would be the day that English magic lost one of its best magicians.

Childermass looked at the locket in his hand. Unlike Mr Segundus, small and weak in the bed, the locket felt potent, substantial; there was a weight to it. Could it be that to protect this locket would be to keep Mr Segundus safe? For if Mr Segundus' soul remained in England, how then could the man himself be snatched away from it?

The door opened. "You may rest assured, my love," Mr Honeyfoot was saying as he bustled in. "Anne is quite well and I sent off Timothy to find that Jane is quite well also. They have all received very stern warnings not to enter any market at the corner of Stonegate and Petergate. We are all safe and sound! And I have written to Dr Foxcastle to..."

There came a rustling noise from the bed. "Ah," mumbled Mr Segundus into the pillow. He turned his head and looked up blearily. "Mr Honeyfoot?"

"My dear Mr Segundus!" Mr Honeyfoot smiled down at him. "You are awake again! How do you feel?"

Mr Segundus blinked his eyes.

"Would you like something more to drink?" asked Mrs Honeyfoot.

"Oh," said Mr Segundus. "No. That is..." He was silent for some moments, before he said, rather quietly, "I am afraid I should, like to... ah... to make water."

Mrs Honeyfoot reddened slightly. "Of course," said she, rising, "I shall go and ask for..."

"Not to worry, my dear," said Mr Honeyfoot. "Not to worry. You need not fetch anyone. We shall be fine by ourselves, shall we not?"

Mr Segundus muttered something about the fact that he would not mind, but only if it would be no trouble to Mr Honeyfoot.

Thus Mrs Honeyfoot left the room and Mr Honeyfoot enquired whether Mr Segundus might be able to stand if supported by he and Childermass? This, however, proved rather difficult when they attempted it, and so a makeshift arrangement was then formed by passing a chamber pot beneath the blankets of the bed.

There was a certainly a pinkness to Mr Segundus' cheeks when all was done, but the chamber pot was quickly sent out with the maid and Mrs Honeyfoot returned.

"Now, sir," said Mr Honeyfoot, once all had seated themselves again. "You must finish your account. You say you found a market in a courtyard at the crossroads?"

"Oh." Mr Segundus turned his head. "Did I not finish it? I am sorry. I..."

"We have a theory," continued Mr Honeyfoot, "that this courtyard is in Faerie! Are there not rumours of an ancient fairy market south of the cathedral?"

Mr Segundus looked down with a rather guilty expression. "I came to the same conclusion," said he, "but only too late. When I entered the place, I thought there nothing unusual in a market and a courtyard that I had never seen before... It was very foolhardy of me."

"There is no shame in entering a fairy road by mistake," pronounced Childermass. "Many have done so."

Mr Segundus sighed. "I should have known better," said he. "I should have stopped to think. But I was too taken up with the task of finding paper for my... Mr Childermass, you know I intend to open a magical school?"

"I do," said Childermass, frowning to hear Mr Segundus repeat himself.

"Good," said Mr Segundus. "Good. I thought so."

"Mr Segundus," said Mr Honeyfoot, when it seemed like Mr Segundus would not say any more, "what happened when you entered the market? You did enter the market, did you not?"

"Oh. Yes." Mr Segundus looked to him. "Yes. There was one stall in the market that seemed to belong to a stationer. Indeed, the stall was overflowing with goods: pens made from the brightest feathers you have ever seen, and parchment that was... Mr Honeyfoot, it was so smooth. I mentioned this to the shopman (a rather scruffy-looking person) and he told me that they used only the youngest skins to make it.

"I would have been happy to see the... But this shopman had a rather tiresome manner: at once negligent (always knocking things off his stall and not caring to pick them up from the floor) and boastful of his wares. Yet, as the parchment was promising, I asked him if he had any paper." Mr Segundus took a breath. "The paper he produced was the whitest, smoothest paper I have ever... I was given a pen and some ink to try it out and I cannot describe what a joy it was to... to...

"Thus, I asked the price. The shopman seemed rather happy about this, for he started dancing about behind his stall and talking about all the different prices he charged for his wares. At first I thought he meant to strike a bargain, but he did not seem to... He did not..." Mr Segundus tailed off.

After a moment, Mrs Honeyfoot leaned across and touched him upon the shoulder. "Sir?"

"Oh," said Mr Segundus, blinking. "Yes. Well, the shopman had started talking about how he had originally charged all sorts of prices for his paper: a fist-sized piece of gold, a white bull, a child born under a... a full moon. And, you know... were these not rather unusual? I began, rather for the first time, to consider that I... that I was no longer in the York of... Mr Childermass, I remembered the ancient accounts of the fairy market and I concluded... "

Mrs Honeyfoot was holding a handkerchief to her mouth. "What did you do?" she asked.

Mr Segundus gave a small, unhappy smile. "I do not claim to know what to do when encountering a fairy, Mrs Honeyfoot... but I fancied that I must try not to give offence, and... so I thought I should not leave until it was polite to do so... Oh, excuse me," said he, yawning. "Excuse me... Thus I waited to see what price the shopman would conclude on (though he listed so many). But eventually he settled on a soul... a man's soul... That is, I think he wanted mine.

"I declined the purchase, as politely as I was able, saying that I could not afford it. (I was... forgive me, rather alarmed. The market, I think, was in Faerie; did I say?) But the shopman started talking of... of... bartering and he boasted how he had never been compelled to reduce his price. He then capered about and..." Mr Segundus closed his eyes for a few moments. "A man's soul. He was talking of all the things he might do with a man's soul, and how it was a just price for such good paper, and how he wouldn't let me leave without... and... Oh. I thought I should preserve myself. So I... Of course I was not thinking clearly, but I... So I performed the first spell I could... and I gave away my soul. To Mr Childermass."

"Oh, Mr Segundus!" cried Mrs Honeyfoot.

Childermass' breath was short. "This locket?" asked he.

"Forgive me," said Mr Segundus weakly, "for imposing upon you."

"And your spell worked!" cried Mr Honeyfoot. "What a triumph! Was the shopman confounded?"

"He did not... thankfully he did not... notice when I was performing the spell, for he was too busy gloating and... So many souls he had already! Therefore it was some moments before I again had a moment to speak, and then when I told him that I... I truly did not want to make the purchase. Because I could in no way give him my soul... That it was not mine to give; it was owned by another. He then looked at me (and his look was more severe than...) Oh, but he must have seen that I was telling the truth, for then he turned away and affected to ignore me."

Mr Segundus took a breath. "I took my chance then and left. But it is... Is it not? I found it the funniest thing to not have a soul. Oh, I was quite fine for a short while... But then I... I believe I made it back out to... to the crossroads and I..."

"Oh!" said Mr Honeyfoot. "And that is when Jane found you!" He had drawn his chair closer to the bed throughout the tale, and now he reached across and squeezed Mr Segundus' wrist.

"Mrs Buckthorne?" asked Mr Segundus.

"Mr Buckthorne and a shopboy carried you here," said Mrs Honeyfoot. "Do you not remember? How ill you looked! And you were calling for Mr Childermass."

"I was..." said Mr Segundus. "I suppose I was." He sighed. "I have frightened you all. I am sorry for it."

"You mean to say," said Childermass, interrupting the happy scene, "that you did not merely intend for me to find your soul, Mr Segundus. Instead you have given it to me fully?"

"Forgive me," is all Mr Segundus said in response.

"But what a clever spell!" exclaimed Mr Honeyfoot. "I would not have thought of anything half so useful had I been in your situation, Mr Segundus. Surely Mr Childermass agrees with me that it was a most sensible course of action."

Childermass (though he was still not sure how he felt about things) nodded, for it was quite clear that this quick-thinking had saved Mr Segundus from a fate far worse.

"To think what would have happened if that fairy had gained Mr Segundus' soul!" said Mr Honeyfoot. "Who knows what he might have done with it? Why, and Mr Segundus was so ill without it, which is no great surprise. It is very good that Mr Segundus did call your name, Mr Childermass, so that you could return the soul to him. Was it not a good thing, Mr Segundus?" 

But Mr Segundus, it seems, was not attending him, for Mr Segundus was instead speaking quietly with Mrs Honeyfoot.

"He has been very brave," said Mr Honeyfoot, moving his chair so that he might sit closer to Childermass and continue his conversation. "And very quick. I dread to think what the fairy would have done with the soul of such a good man. Why, he could have had the ability of West Down Jack and so might have used the soul to control Mr Segundus! And then we would have had to call on you, Mr Childermass, to break another enchantment."

"Mm," said Childermass. He looked down at the locket in his palm.

"Do you think," continued Mr Honeyfoot, "that it truly is a skill limited to fairies alone? Or do you think that anyone in possession of a soul might control its owner?"

Childermass looked at him. "I..." He cleared his throat. "I do not know."

"I have a notion," said Mr Honeyfoot, "that for the wellbeing of Mr Segundus, we ought to try. For if we give him some benign commands now, we will know (or rather, you will know, Mr Childermass) to beware what you might be capable of in the future."

Childermass found he could no longer speak, but luckily Mr Honeyfoot did not wait for an answer.

"Mr Segundus," said Mr Honeyfoot, raising his voice and looking over to the bed, "we should like to perform a little test, to see what might happen now that Mr Childermass has your soul." Mr Honeyfoot nodded. "But only with your approval, sir. Only with your approval."

"Hm?" said Mr Segundus, hazily. "Whatever you think best, Mr Honeyfoot."

Childermass frowned. "You are quite certain? We mean to command you against your will, sir."

Mr Segundus merely offered him a smile in return.

"Well, then," said Mr Honeyfoot, taking this as assent and turning to Childermass. "We await you."

Childermass swallowed. He was not sure he wanted to proceed, but he fancied that Mr Honeyfoot was correct: a benign test now could prevent grave error later. Thus, with his heart beating in his chest, Childermass clutched the locket in his palm and said, "Mr Segundus, sit up."

Mr Segundus, with some difficulty, sat up in the bed.

"Oh my!" cried Mr Honeyfoot.

"Mr Segundus," said Mrs Honeyfoot, as she helped him to lie back down, "did you mean to sit up?"

"Oh," said Mr Segundus, frowning at her. "Was I not meant to? Mr Childermass had asked and..."

"My dear Mr Segundus," said Mr Honeyfoot. "You are too obliging. Do you not understand? We are trying to see if Mr Childermass can compel you. You must try your hardest to avoid doing as he says."

"I am sorry," said Mr Segundus. "I am very sorry."

"Well then?" said Mr Honeyfoot to Childermass. "You must try again."

Childermass took a breath and repeated his words: "Mr Segundus, sit up."

This time, nothing happened: Mr Segundus remained lying where he was.

"It does not work, then?" asked Mr Honeyfoot.

Childermass hummed, thinking. "Perhaps I was not clear enough. Perhaps it must be a command." He looked to the bed. "Mr Segundus, I command you to sit up."

Mr Segundus struggled up until he was sitting in the bed.

"Oh, Mr Segundus!" said Mrs Honeyfoot. "Did you mean to sit up this time?"

"I do not think..." Mr Segundus shook his head. "That is: I did not... but Mr Childermass... when he..."

"You must try not to do as he says," Mrs Honeyfoot was saying again.

Childermass huffed. This was not so unambiguous as he had hoped. He considered a command that Mr Segundus would be less likely to comply with. "Mr Segundus," said Childermass, "I command you to sing."

And lo! In a voice that was rather strained and out-of-tune, Mr Segundus began singing. It appeared to be a song in Italian, but it was not one that Childermass had ever heard before.

Mrs Honeyfoot's eyes were wide. She looked to her husband.

"I command you to stop," said Childermass, and Mr Segundus stopped singing.

"Oh, Mr Segundus!" said Mrs Honeyfoot, taking his arm to support him. "Did you mean to start singing? Did you mean to stop again?"

Poor Mr Segundus was looking rather confused. "I..." said he. "Mr Childermass commanded and I..."

Childermass' heart was racing. They were on the cusp of a conclusion. All they needed was one final, unavoidable proof that Mr Segundus wasn't merely complying due to his polite nature. What, then, would Mr Segundus refuse to do, no matter how forcefully he was asked?

"I command you," said Childermass, "to insult Mr Honeyfoot."

Mr Segundus took a breath. "Mr Honeyfoot has a foolish tendency to over-exuberance. He does not listen. He does not think before acting. Sometimes he will become so deluded with one ridiculous idea that he..."

"Stop!" said Childermass. "Stop!" And when this didn't work, he said, "I command you to stop!"

Mr Segundus stopped talking. His mouth, however, remained open in an expression that could only be described as horror. His cheeks had flamed red. "Oh! Oh! Forgive me!" Mr Segundus stuttered. "Mr Honeyfoot, I...!"

If Mr Segundus felt ashamed, it was surely nothing to the guilt that engulfed Childermass at that moment. He couldn't bear the look upon Mr Segundus' face. He couldn't bear himself. Childermass laid the locket upon the blankets of the bed and left the house as fast as he was able.


	3. Chapter 3

When Childermass returned to the bed-chamber at the Old Starre Inn, Vinculus, who had previously been asleep upon the bed, was now nowhere to be found. This would normally have caused Childermass some concern, for Vinculus (or rather, the writing to be found upon Vinculus) was very precious to him, but at that moment Childermass had no anxiety to spare for the whereabouts of the King's book, or indeed for anything that was not the scene that had just occurred in Mr Honeyfoot's house.

The image of Mr Segundus' horrified face appeared as if it were painted upon the very air that Childermass breathed. As Childermass glanced to the bed, he saw the red, glowing shame upon Mr Segundus' cheeks; as Childermass looked to the desk, he saw Mr Segundus' mouth open in surprise; and as Childermass turned to the window, he saw (and how terrible it was!) the agony in Mr Segundus' eyes.

Childermass hung up his hat and his overcoat, pulled out the chair from the desk (rather roughly, it must be said) and sat down, intending to put all thoughts of Mr Segundus out of his mind. He took out his memorandum book from his coat pocket and opened it to the latest page.

The incomprehensible thing was why Mr Segundus would have given his soul to Childermass in the first place. It was one of the few truly foolish things that Childermass had ever known Mr Segundus to do. Presumably the urgency of Mr Segundus' situation at the fairy market had affected his judgement for the worse.

For what could Mr Segundus expect if he gave his soul to a man like Childermass, but that Childermass would use that soul to treat Mr Segundus as cruelly and as unjustly as was possible?

Not ever had Childermass been a good omen for Mr Segundus. At every turn Childermass had made Mr Segundus' life harder and more difficult than it already was: there were magical societies to be shut down; there were schools to be shut down; there was Childermass, bloody and ragged and kicking at Mr Segundus' front door to wake his household from a peaceful slumber.

When Childermass thought upon it, he realised how familiar he was with Mr Segundus in a state of unhappiness, and indeed with the minutiae of Mr Segundus' expressions that attended such a state. Why, upon Mr Segundus' face Childermass had at various times seen disappointment, dejection, discontent, lowness of spirits, melancholy, and every single one of those expressions had been overlaid with a weary acceptance, as if Mr Segundus had expected no less: as if Mr Segundus had been quite able, on every occasion, to see Childermass as the harbinger of sorrow he truly was.

This latest unhappiness was rather unusual in that regard, for the weary acceptance had, for once, not been there. Instead the overarching expression upon Mr Segundus' face at that moment had been one of surprise and shame. Perhaps, that was why it was so much the worse this time, for it had been clear that Mr Segundus felt all the blame for insulting Mr Honeyfoot. Mr Segundus feeling anger at Childermass, Childermass could accept; Mr Segundus feeling anger at _himself_ , Childermass could not.

To make a man as good as Mr Segundus be so harsh was perhaps the cruellest thing Childermass could have done. For truly Mr Segundus was a good man. Indeed, it had taken Childermass a long while to believe this to be true. Magicians did not tend towards the gentle, nor the modest, nor the understanding, and so Childermass had first suspected such traits to be merely an act upon Mr Segundus' part, an affectation, so as to ingratiate himself more freely with Mr Norrell (and no doubt with Mr Norrell's library). What surprise, then, Childermass felt when he kept his watch upon Mr Segundus and discovered, slowly, that Mr Segundus was as free from artifice as a man could be.

Rare indeed was Mr Segundus! Kind, humble _gentlemen_ were not commonplace, and kind, humble _magicians_ even less so. Which was surely all the more reason that Mr Segundus should not in any way associate with (much less give his soul to) a man like Childermass. For what was Childermass but a cold, calculating, manipulative person? On appearance a vagabond and at heart a thief? (Truly, Childermass felt no shame in being the man he was, but that still did not mean that he was at all a suitable companion for kind-hearted Mr Segundus.)

It was little wonder that it had taken mere moments between Childermass being gifted Mr Segundus' soul and Childermass using it to wound Mr Segundus in the worst way possible.

Childermass stared, unseeing, down at his memorandum book.

But what selfish wallowing was this? What was the use? It was of no import what Mr Segundus thought of Childermass, nor how much Mr Segundus surely despised Childermass now. What was instead vital was that Childermass' cruel mistake had not occasioned Mr Segundus further hardship.

You see, in York Mr Segundus was reliant upon the friendship of the Honeyfoots (indeed, Mr Segundus' situation was such that he was reliant upon friends for many things). If that friendship with Mr and Mrs Honeyfoot was now severed, what would happen but that Mr Segundus, weak and ill, would be ejected from their household and left to fend for himself?

With a long breath, Childermass reached inside his coat and pulled out the cards of Marseilles. He told himself that he merely wished to discover if Mr Segundus' immediate future would be secure (for Childermass was determined to be in no way interested in how he himself fared in Mr Segundus' fortune) and so laid out a spread.

Childermass spent a long time reading the cards. Sometimes he picked up one or two cards in particular and gave them close scrutiny, and at other times he observed the spread as a whole. But no matter how long Childermass looked, and no matter how many times he laid out the cards, he was not able to come to a conclusion. To read the cards in one way suggested that Mr Segundus would indeed be safe and content, but the alternate reading was far more concerning.

There came a knock upon the chamber door.

Scowling, Childermass gathered up the cards and returned them to his coat pocket. He then walked over to the door and opened it.

Behind the door stood Mr Honeyfoot's servant. The boy bowed. "Sir, Mr Honeyfoot begs that you return to his house."

"Why so?"

The boy bowed again. "Mr Segundus has grown much worse, sir, and Mr Honeyfoot says it is urgent that you attend him."

Childermass grimaced, but did not protest. Instead he once more took up his overcoat and his hat, and slipped his memorandum book into his pocket, then let the boy lead him out of the inn and back to High-Petergate.

Mr Honeyfoot was waiting for them upon the threshold of his house. "Oh, thank the Lord!" said Mr Honeyfoot. "I had half-worried that you had thought to leave town or some such thing." He ushered Childermass through the door and inside. "Come," said Mr Honeyfoot, heading for the stairs. "Come come."

Childermass did not follow. "Mr Segundus has relapsed?"

Mr Honeyfoot turned to him. "Yes!" he cried. "Oh, yes! He is almost as bad as he was before you returned his soul to him, Mr Childermass! I hope I am not misguided in thinking that your presence will once again serve him well."

Childermass regarded Mr Honeyfoot, then gave a brief bow. "I must apologise, Mr Honeyfoot, for my earlier behaviour."

Mr Honeyfoot flushed. "Oh," said he. "I am not injured in the slightest! Do not think of it! Indeed, I heard nothing that was not true and accurate (my wife will tell you as much; she quite agreed with the sentiments!) and I spent some time in trying to persuade Mr Segundus as much while he was still awake." Mr Honeyfoot here stopped talking and met Childermass' eye. "No indeed, sir; _I_ am not the man you need apologise to."

Childermass took a breath.

"Now, come!" said Mr Honeyfoot, taking Childermass by the elbow and ushering him up the stairs. "In his current state, Mr Segundus will no more recognise an apology than he will recognise anything else; he has grown quite delirious and needs you with all urgency."

Thus Childermass was led up the stairs and again into that pretty, blue bed-chamber. At the bedside, as before, was Mrs Honeyfoot, and if one were to look beneath her cap, one would see that her eyes were red as if she had been crying.

"Mrs Honeyfoot." Childermass bowed again, but even as he did so his gaze was drawn to the bed.

Mr Segundus was raised upon the pillows, as he had been when he had spoken to them earlier, but he was far from speaking now. Instead, his eyes were shut and his mouth was open, his thin chest rising with the same rasping, rattling breath he had suffered from when Childermass had first observed him that morning. His sallow skin was covered with a sheen of sweat.

"We believe, Mr Childermass," Mr Honeyfoot was saying, "that since Mr Segundus has given you his soul, he can no longer make use of it by himself. For it to have any effect, you must be present also."

Childermass looked to the blankets where the little locket lay discarded beside one of Mr Segundus' hands. (It looked, almost, as if someone had attempted to urge him to hold it in his current state, with very little luck.)

There came a long, deep breath from the bed, and then another. Some of the pained, clenched look in Mr Segundus' face appeared to lessen a little.

"Ah! See, my dear!" said Mr Honeyfoot to his wife. "Look how Mr Segundus grows better already!"

If Childermass were a demonstrative man (which he was not) he would have shouted in frustration. Mr Segundus' breathing grew yet slower and yet calmer and Childermass realised, with terrible clarity, how linked now were his and Mr Segundus' fates. No more would Mr Segundus have respite from Childermass' ominous presence; instead Mr Segundus would be forced to suffer the worst that Childermass could do to him, and Childermass, in turn, would be forced to suffer the torment of watching himself drive Mr Segundus further and further into misery.

Once again, a chair was fetched and Childermass was ushered into it, his hat and his overcoat taken by Mr Honeyfoot's boy. Childermass was offered refreshments and comforts and conversation, but Childermass accepted none of these. Instead he watched the bed with growing concern.

After some quarter of an hour or so, the silence in the room was broken by Mrs Honeyfoot. She had been observing Mr Segundus with a soft smile for some time.

"Mr Childermass," said she, looking to the blankets beside Mr Segundus' hand. "Why don't you take up Mr Segundus' soul again? Bless me, I thought to get him to hold it, but it did not work, and it looks so lonely lying there by itself."

Childermass looked up. "Do you truly think that such a good idea, madam," asked he, "after what happened the last time?"

Mrs Honeyfoot tutted and shook her head. "Doubtless you will be more careful with it now, Mr Childermass. Besides, my husband has a thick skin. (Do you not, my dear?) He will not fret over so small a thing."

Childermass was hesitant, for all that Mr Honeyfoot quickly agreed with his wife, but it seems that Childermass had not a choice in the matter, for without further ado Mrs Honeyfoot took up the locket and placed it in Childermass' palm.

What warmth Childermass felt as soon as he held it! What glowing, gleaming comfort! It seemed, suddenly, as if Childermass' bad mood had been caused not just by his thoughtless actions but also by the lack of this thing most dear. For Childermass felt all the better when he had it in his hand. Indeed, the locket felt so good and so right, that it felt almost as if Childermass was meant to hold it; as if he and the locket were two parts of the same whole and would forever have something missing were they not together.

There came a soft sigh from the bed.

"Oh look!" exclaimed Mrs Honeyfoot. "See how the colour returns to his cheeks! Oh, Mr Childermass, I believe I was right; Mr Segundus' poor soul was indeed neglected, there on the blankets all alone."

Childermass felt his face warming

"How very interesting!" agreed Mr Honeyfoot, leaning forwards so as to observe Mr Segundus more closely. "It seems that, now that Mr Segundus has given you his soul, Mr Childermass, you must keep it in your possession for it to work fully. Though, of course, you yourself must be close enough to Mr Segundus for it to work upon him."

"And would you," said Childermass, "allow a man such as myself to have claim over this soul, when you have already seen what I may do with it?" Childermass tightened his hand over the locket. "I am not the sort of person who should have control of this good man." He looked to Mr Honeyfoot. "Would it not be better, sir, for you to take it? You have ever been Mr Segundus' friend."

"Oh!" cried Mr Honeyfoot in some surprise. "That is very kind of you, Mr Childermass. That is very kind indeed. But I could not accept, you know. Why, it would be very difficult to transfer ownership of Mr Segundus' soul without knowing what spell he used to give it to you in the first place. And besides, I should not like to go against Mr Segundus' wishes. He has given the soul to you, sir; not to me."

"Then Mr Segundus was wrong," said Childermass. "In his panic at the fairy market he gave his soul to the wrong man. For I do not at all see why he should want me to have it."

"You do not?" asked Mr Honeyfoot, wide-eyed. "But, Mr Childermass, you are exactly the man he should have given it to!"

Childermass opened his mouth to protest, but Mr Honeyfoot talked over him. "No no," said Mr Honeyfoot. "Now that Mr Norrell and Mr Strange have gone wherever it is they have gone to, you, Mr Childermass, are the most knowledgeable magician remaining in England. Who else has worked so closely with both Mr Norrell and Mr Strange and with Mr Norrell's library!" Mr Honeyfoot shook his head. "No, sir. Mr Segundus was in his right mind when he gave you his soul, for if anyone can return the soul to its rightful owner, it is you, Mr Childermass."

Rousing as this speech was, Childermass still felt inclined to protest the situation, but before he could do so there came another sigh from the bed, and then a brief, mumbled, "Mrs Honeyfoot?" for that good woman was at that moment mopping Mr Segundus' brow with a cool cloth.

"Oh, bless you, Mr Segundus," exclaimed she. "You are awake again!"

"Mmph." Mr Segundus closed his eyes for a moment, and after a minute or two opened them again. He then turned his head, slowly, to survey the room, and in doing so his eyes lit upon Mr Honeyfoot.

Mr Segundus flushed. "Ah," he said.

This caused Mr Honeyfoot to jump up and over to the bedside. "Oh, my dear Mr Segundus," said he, taking up one of Mr Segundus' hands. "You must not fret, for we are friends again (indeed, we have never stopped being friends). Do you not remember that we had settled all before you fell asleep?"

Mr Segundus blinked at him, and took a slow breath. "Yet I am sorry still," said Mr Segundus. "You are very kind, Mr Honeyfoot. But I must apologise for..."

" _I_ must apologise, Mr Segundus," said Childermass. "Not you. I have wronged you very badly, sir, and I am sorry for it."

Mr Segundus turned to him. "Mr Childermass."

"However," continued Childermass, "you need not worry about my having control over you for much longer, for Mr Honeyfoot and I will make it our study to return your soul to you as soon as possible."

"Ah," said Mr Segundus again, looking, perhaps, even more solemn than he had before. He lowered his eyes. "Thank you, Mr Childermass; that is very good of you."


	4. Chapter 4

As it was now known that Mr Segundus' health and recovery were dependent upon the presence of Childermass, Mr Honeyfoot kindly invited Childermass to stay with him in his house until such time as Mr Segundus' soul could be returned to its rightful owner (that is to say: returned to Mr Segundus himself).

Childermass accepted the invitation, though, it must be said, with some reluctance. This caused Mr Honeyfoot (perhaps wondering why anyone should hesitate to stay in a comfortable home when their only other option was a room at an inn) to repeat several times that Childermass need have no doubts about the welcome he would find in Mr Honeyfoot's house.

Childermass did not deign to explain the nature of his reluctance one way or another, but after a moment he pronounced the following: "You may come to regret that welcome, Mr Honeyfoot." And Childermass gave a tight smile. "I must remind you that I no longer travel alone, and where I stay Vinculus must stay also, for I do not mean to let him stray far from my side while there is still yet work to be completed on the King's book."

"Oh!" exclaimed Mr Honeyfoot. "Oh, of course! I had not thought but... Of course Vinculus must stay here also. What a wonderful thing to have the King's words under my own roof!"

Childermass gave another smile, and this one rather wry, but he acquiesced, and shortly he and Mr Honeyfoot's serving boy were dispatched to the Old Starre Inn to collect Childermass' belongings (Vinculus included).

Once again, Vinculus was not to be found in the bed-chamber he had shared with Childermass, but Childermass did not pay this much heed. Instead, Childermass packed up his things from the room (scant though they were) and then left the boy to load them onto Childermass' horse in the stable while Childermass went down to pay his bill.

The landlord was at that moment in the bar. And (rather unsurprisingly) Vinculus was also. Indeed, Vinculus had something of a crowd gathered around the table where he sat, and he appeared to be in the middle of persuading an old widower that he could speak to the widower's dead wife. (Childermass was not sure which was worse: Vinculus' high-pitched "female" voice or his unconvincing Yorkshire accent.)

Ignoring the proceedings, Childermass took aside the landlord, who was laughing (as were most of those present), and settled his bill (said bill containing rather more alcohol than Childermass had expected). Childermass then dispersed the throng around Vinculus with some choice words regarding Vinculus' unsuitability as a medium and told Vinculus that they were leaving.

Vinculus, pocketing a shilling, scowled. "So soon? But I have just got comfortable. There's good pickings here, you know."

"You will be even more comfortable where we're going," said Childermass, leaning against the table. "Or do gentleman's houses not agree with you?"

This appeared to gain Vinculus' interest.

"We will be staying with the Honeyfoots in High-Petergate," said Childermass, straightening. "Come."

"Now?" asked Vinculus. He gestured to the half-empty mug in front of him. "But I haven't finished my beer."

"Yes now, or I shall finish your beer for you," retorted Childermass, reaching for said beer. This threat had the intended effect, for Vinculus quickly snatched up the mug and emptied it, then he stood and followed Childermass from the room.

As they were entering the stables, Vinculus said, "Mr Segundus must be very ill for you to up and move to Mr Honeyfoot's house."

Childermass glanced at Vinculus, then mounted his horse (for Mr Honeyfoot's boy had it saddled and waiting).

"Is he dying?" continued Vinculus, sounding rather eager for a piece of gossip.

"No," said Childermass, setting off at a walk. "He is growing better."

Vinculus frowned. "Well, you don't sound very happy about it." He followed Childermass out onto the street.

As Childermass was not forthcoming with any further information, Vinculus huffed and instead turned to Mr Honeyfoot's boy, who had also set off with them. "Do you know," said Vinculus, "that I can talk to the dead?" He grinned. "Have you lost anyone recently?"

From atop his horse, Childermass snorted.

Once they had reached Mr Honeyfoot's house, Childermass left his horse and his belongings with the boy, deposited Vinculus into the hands of the butler (a man named Fletcher, who had issued from the house in order to see to the guests), and quickly made his way up the stairs to Mr Segundus' small bed-chamber.

He found Mr and Mrs Honeyfoot inside, both sitting beside the bed, whose occupant was asleep.

"Is he well?" asked Childermass immediately, looking to the sleeping form of Mr Segundus. "Have I been away for too long?"

Mrs Honeyfoot gave Childermass a smile. "No, Mr Childermass. He has fallen asleep, but seems quite peaceful."

Childermass let out a breath.

"Nevertheless," said Mr Honeyfoot," looking from Childermass to Mr Segundus, and then back again, "he does appear more contented now you are here, Mr Childermass. Why, look at the colour in his cheeks!"

And indeed, Childermass could see that what Mr Honeyfoot had said was correct: Mr Segundus' face no longer held any of the sallow colour that it had earlier. Childermass pursed his lips and set to removing his hat and overcoat.

Mr Honeyfoot leaned forward eagerly. "You still have it, I presume?"

"Aye." Childermass huffed and sat down. He felt rather reluctant to show the locket to Mr Honeyfoot again, but did so all the same. "Here. It is safe."

"Well, then," said Mr Honeyfoot cheerfully, "we may be as comfortable as possible, now we are all present and correct. As I said, sir, you may stay as long as you wish in this house. It will be no inconvenience at all; do not worry about that."

Childermass laughed sharply. He thanked Mr Honeyfoot once again for his kindness, then turned to Mrs Honeyfoot. "Madam," said Childermass. "I have left Vinculus in the hands of your man Fletcher, but you will do well to warn your staff not to believe everything he says. Oh, and be sure to keep him out of the pantry and the cellar if you would like to keep your store of meat and drink intact."

Mrs Honeyfoot grew a little pale to hear such a thing, but she thanked Childermass for his warning, and then quickly left to see that the house was in order.

The rest of the morning was rather uneventful, for Mr Segundus remained sleeping (waking but once in that time, and then only briefly to ask for water). Childermass and Mr Honeyfoot kept up their watch by the bedside, with Mr Honeyfoot distracting Childermass from his ruminations by asking many questions about Vinculus and making many suppositions as to the best means to return Mr Segundus' soul to him.

When the dinner hour arrived, Childermass was invited to dine with the family at their table; this was something of a surprise, for it was a kindness he had not expected. In the meantime one of the maids was sent upstairs to sit with Mr Segundus in his room.

Childermass' surprise was even greater when he discovered that Vinculus had also been invited to join the family at table. Vinculus, for himself, was wearing a great, wide smile.

Yet all the family treated their guests with the utmost politeness (Mr Honeyfoot, in particular, seemed very pleased to have an opportunity for conversation with Vinculus), even if Mr Honeyfoot's wife and daughter were sometimes a little wide-eyed while observing Vinculus' table manners (or lack thereof).

The daughter present had been duly introduced to Childermass before the party entered the dining room. She was Mr and Mrs Honeyfoot's youngest, a woman aged five and twenty, or thereabouts, who went by the name of Anne.

Miss Anne Honeyfoot was both friendly and lively in her conversation and, like her parents, appeared very thankful to Childermass for his role in saving Mr Segundus from the urgency of his illness. It was with some alarm that Miss Honeyfoot recounted her attempts that morning to make a draught in the hope of easing Mr Segundus' suffering, and her frustration at being unable to find tamarind (a necessary ingredient of the draught, or so it seemed) anywhere in York. How easy it was to see that the affection the Honeyfoots felt for Mr Segundus extended to the whole family! And the similarities between them did not stop there, for Miss Honeyfoot looked rather like her mother also, with her pretty blue eyes and her way of growing pink when animated.

Something bitter and raw rose in Childermass' chest. He took care to school it away.

Yet dinner, while containing ample fare (the Honeyfoots certainly knew how to stock a table), did not last for long. When the ladies rose to leave the room, Childermass did also, for he did not desire to make Mr Segundus the worse by leaving his presence for too long. Mr Honeyfoot quite agreed with this sentiment and joined Childermass in his return to Mr Segundus' bed-chamber. (What Vinculus did, seemingly left to his own devices with a table full of sweets, nuts and wines, remains unknown.)

Mr Segundus was still asleep when Childermass and Mr Honeyfoot returned to him, though he seemed to be fretting a little, which fretfulness decreased the longer Childermass remained in the room. The maid who had sat watch with Mr Segundus in their absence attested that this discomfort in Mr Segundus had continued for some while, for Mr Honeyfoot interrogated her greatly about Mr Segundus' condition before he allowed her to escape back to the kitchen.

Childermass was not at all surprised to hear that his presence had had a soothing effect (previous events had proved just the same), but the thought that his pleasant dinner had resulted in Mr Segundus' disquiet caused him to frown rather deeply. He resolved, therefore, not to leave Mr Segundus alone for so long in the future, which resolution Mr Honeyfoot (upon hearing it) praised very much and declared to be a very noble sentiment.

Thus the evening continued on much the same as the morning had before dinner. Childermass watched the continued rise and fall of Mr Segundus' thin chest and Mr Honeyfoot talked to Childermass of many things. The two men even took their supper there in that bed-chamber, which activity did not seem to rouse Mr Segundus from his slumber in the slightest.

Over the course of the evening, Mr Honeyfoot had grown quite convinced that Martin Pale's Restoration and Rectification would be just the spell to return Mr Segundus' soul to him. "Bless me," cried Mr Honeyfoot, "I can think of no spell better suited to our purposes. Was this spell not the one that you and Mr Segundus used to restore Lady Pole's finger to her, Mr Childermass? With such a marvellous precedent I am certain that this is the spell we must use to restore Mr Segundus' soul!"

Childermass, it must be said, did not have quite the same level of enthusiasm for the spell as Mr Honeyfoot (indeed, it may not have been possible for anyone to equal Mr Honeyfoot's enthusiasm in this matter), but Childermass nevertheless fancied the spell to be a very sensible idea. After all, it was known that the spell worked, and it seemed aptly suited to a situation such as Mr Segundus'. Indeed, Childermass had a great hope that it might work very well.

Thus, together Childermass and Mr Honeyfoot spent the rest of the evening discussing the best ways to perform Pale's Restoration and Rectification. It was discovered that they already had everything to hand that they would need for it, and so it was thought best not to delay any longer than necessary. The very next day was settled upon for the attempting of the spell; if, that is, Mr Segundus happened to be awake for the attempt (as neither Childermass nor Mr Honeyfoot felt comfortable performing the spell without Mr Segundus' consent).

The supper things had just been cleared, and clock upon the mantelpiece in the bed-chamber was proclaiming it to be some minutes past ten o'clock, when several of the servants then entered the room carrying an assortment of mattresses and blankets. Mrs Honeyfoot was following in their wake.

"Do forgive me for presuming, Mr Childermass," said she, "but I thought it might be best for you to sleep here with Mr Segundus, to avoid his health from growing worse over the course of the night."

Childermass must have shown some surprise upon his face at this statement, for Mrs Honeyfoot hastily added, "Though if that isn't to your taste, Mr Childermass, then we can make up the room next door just as easily. And believe me, I would not suggest that any guest sleep upon a truckle bed on the floor were I not so concerned about Mr Segundus' wellbeing."

Mr Honeyfoot, however, seemed to have no time for such niceties. He rose from his chair to kiss his wife on the cheek. "That is a wonderful idea, my dear! Yes, yes! Certainly Mr Childermass must sleep in this room." He turned to Childermass. "Why, earlier Mr Childermass had mentioned how he did not mean to leave Mr Segundus' side for long, as Mr Segundus, poor man, seemed to notice his absence during dinner. I am certain that Mr Childermass will have no problem with sleeping here; not while Mr Segundus' comfort is at stake."

Childermass, for his part, had not gone so far as to think about sleeping arrangements. Indeed, he had not considered himself sleeping much at all. It was with some concern that he now considered what must be done. Because of course Childermass knew that must stay by Mr Segundus' side; he could not bear the thought of Mr Segundus growing ill through so long an absence as a whole night. At the same time, the possibility of a whole night spent alone with one so vulnerable to him as Mr Segundus filled Childermass with dread. He thought back to what he had caused Mr Segundus to do earlier that day.

"It is indeed a sensible idea, Mrs Honeyfoot," said Childermass, frowning. "But perhaps I might ask Mr Honeyfoot to join me in this room? I do not think it wise to..."

"Oh, yes!" cried Mr Honeyfoot. "Oh, do forgive me. What a dunce I am! Of course you must not stay here alone, Mr Childermass. Why, Mr Segundus' condition is still so delicate; we must keep watch on him throughout the night. Yet, if you are left here alone, you will be forced to watch all night with no sleep." Mr Honeyfoot shook his head. "Do not worry. I shall have a truckle bed made up for myself here also, and together, Mr Childermass, we shall split the watch between us." Here Mr Honeyfoot smiled at Childermass, and it was with something very much like true gratitude that Childermass smiled in return.

Thus the servants and Mrs Honeyfoot were sent off to find yet more bedding so that truckle beds might be made up for both Childermass and Mr Honeyfoot. Childermass observed the proceedings silently, still filled with concern, despite Mr Honeyfoot's easy acquiescence to sleeping in the same room.

Mr Honeyfoot himself had removed to his dressing room in order to prepare himself for bed. It was just as the servants were leaving that he returned in his nightshirt and dressing gown, holding a candle.

"Ah, Mr Childermass," said he. "You are not yet undressed?" (For Childermass had made no attempt to ready himself for bed.) "Do you mean then to take the first watch? I must admit I am glad of it, sir, for..." Mr Honeyfoot yawned. "Excuse me. I do not think I will remain awake much longer." He gave Childermass a tired smile. "I grow old, sir, and am not used to such excitements as I have had today."

Childermass nodded. "Go to sleep," said he. "I shall wake you at three o'clock, or perhaps four, and then we shall swap duties."

"That is very good of you, Mr Childermass," said Mr Honeyfoot, yawning again. "But you must make certain to wake me at any time if Mr Segundus grows worse again." Then Mr Honeyfoot, removed his dressing gown, blew out his candle and settled down into one of the beds upon the floor. Very shortly afterwards, his slow breathing pronounced him to be asleep.

As Mr Honeyfoot settled himself, Childermass too settled himself, though into a chair, with a candle upon the small table behind him. He took up one of Mr Honeyfoot's books about magic, which Childermass had found lying upon the said table (presumably Mr Segundus had borrowed the books to occupy himself during his stay), and began to read.

Yet Childermass was only able to read in fits and starts, for he kept pausing to contemplate the sleeping form of Mr Segundus.

It truly was a good thing that Mr Honeyfoot had agreed to keep Childermass company in this room. For who would ever allow a man like Childermass to spend a night fully alone with a man like Mr Segundus?

Indeed, now that Mr Segundus was in the presence of his soul, Childermass was not much concerned that Mr Segundus' health would fail him further. What concerned Childermass instead was his own presence in the room. After all, he had already received that day clear proof of the torments he was able to lay upon Mr Segundus' head now that he had control of Mr Segundus' actions. With no-one there to prevent it, who knew what Childermass might be capable of?

The candlelight made Mr Segundus' features more stark. There was a gauntness to his face that in the daylight was less noticeable. Still, despite how thin Mr Segundus was, and how small, there was an admirable quality to him also. Certainly, he couldn't truly have been called handsome (and Childermass did not deign to consider whether Miss Honeyfoot thought him handsome or no), but his features could be pleasing when viewed at the right angle (or when accompanied by a smile).

Why, was it not a fact that even though Mr Segundus' nose was a little large, his chin a little weak, and his eyes a little close together, Mr Segundus' brow was nevertheless noble, his mouth delicate, and his eyes... When he looked at one, the colour of his eyes was so very dark and rich! There was a depth to that intelligent gaze that was rather hard to forget once it had been experienced.

Oh, yes, Mr Segundus might be small and thin and greying, but Childermass had to admit that there was something desirable about his person. (Perhaps, even, he was made the more desirable for his very smallness, and thinness, and greying hair.)

Here Childermass paused in his ruminations to discover that his heart was beating fast in his chest. He felt the hairs upon his arms stand on end.

If Mr Segundus was as desirable as Childermass knew him to be, then why would anyone ever think to allow a man like Childermass (who was granted such power through the soul in his pocket) to sit alone with him? It was madness.

Did not Childermass have the power, if he so wished, to do terrible things?

Good Lord!

But all was well. Childermass closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath. All was well, for Mr Honeyfoot lay close by, sleeping happily. If anything dire happened, Mr Honeyfoot would wake and come to Mr Segundus' aid. There was no way that Mr Segundus could suffer any evil while Mr Honeyfoot was present.

Thus comforted, Childermass returned to his book; though his fingers could not hold it as steady as they ought to have done.

As the hours passed, Childermass read, fitfully, and watched Mr Segundus in the bed, fitfully, and listened, with more than a little gratitude, to the sounds of Mr Honeyfoot asleep in his truckle bed. At some point, however, when Childermass' eyes were just beginning to grow hot and sore, Mr Honeyfoot stirred rather a lot in his bed, and after some moments sat up.

Mr Honeyfoot looked hazily about the room, peering at Mr Segundus in the bed, then at Childermass in the chair. "How does he do?" asked Mr Honeyfoot, his voice rather gruff from sleep.

"He has slept peacefully this whole time," replied Childermass.

Mr Honeyfoot smiled. "That is good. Let us hope the rest of the night is just as peaceful, for it is your turn to sleep now, Mr Childermass." Standing, Mr Honeyfoot stretched, cleared his throat, and then reached across to pull on his dressing gown. He made his way over to where Childermass sat. "Go on then," said Mr Honeyfoot, yawning. "To bed with you."

Childermass huffed, but did as he was told, leaving the chair and the book to Mr Honeyfoot and heading over to the truckle bed that had been made up for him on the floor. There he took off his shoes and all his clothes (save for his shirt) and placed them in a neat pile at the bed's foot.

Yet something didn't feel quite right. Childermass had expected to feel cold when removing his clothes, that is true, but he had not expected to feel quite so cold as he now discovered himself to be. The process of undressing had left him with a shivery, unsatisfactory feeling; indeed, it almost felt as if he knew there was something he ought to have done but had quite forgotten what it was. Childermass frowned.

At that moment, there came a rustling noise from Mr Segundus' bed. He muttered something in his sleep.

And there was the reason for Childermass' discomfort! Frowning yet further, Childermass picked up his coat once more and reached into its pocket to clasp the locket that lay within. Immediately Mr Segundus calmed, and so too, it seems, did Childermass. Warmth flooded through him, from his hand that clasped the locket, up to the very top of his head and down to his toes.

Childermass pulled the locket free from his coat and stared it at it, observing how it shined even more brilliantly in the candlelight than it had done in the light of day. From the corner of his eye, Childermass fancied he could see Mr Honeyfoot turning to admire it as well. And so, not caring to be the object of such a curious gaze for long, Childermass did what he knew he must: he took up the chain attached to the locket and slipped it over his head.

"Goodnight, Mr Honeyfoot," said Childermass, not bothering to turn to see Mr Honeyfoot's reaction. "Wake me if Mr Segundus needs my assistance." And in saying so he climbed into bed.

"Goodnight," called Mr Honeyfoot after him. "Sleep well."

Thus Childermass settled down to sleep. He must truly have been tired, though he had not realised it, for the little truckle bed with its mattresses and blankets seemed ever so comfortable. Or perhaps the comfort was due only to Mr Segundus' soul, which lay so warmly against Childermass' breast. The smooth weight of it beneath Childermass' shirt felt very much as if it belonged there. Why had Childermass ever been satisfied by keeping it merely in his pocket?

Any concern that Childermass might have felt for Mr Segundus' wellbeing seemed to ebb away. Lying in that soft bed with the warm locket, and hearing the comforting sounds of Mr Honeyfoot settling down to his watch, Childermass fell asleep almost immediately.

The next morning Childermass woke to the sounds of two maids bustling in to remove Mr Honeyfoot's bedding. The fire in the grate, he discovered as he woke further, had already been rekindled and was crackling heartily.

"Ah," said Mr Honeyfoot, when Childermass stirred. "You are awake?"

"Mm," said Childermass. "Did I sleep for long?" He looked to the clock on the mantelpiece, which claimed it to be eight o'clock in the morning.

Mr Honeyfoot did not answer but fell straightaway to providing a detailed account of Mr Segundus' movements during the night: the main thrust of which being that Mr Segundus had slept peacefully whole night through and hadn't yet woken. Afterwards, Mr Honeyfoot left the room to dress, while the maids came in to remove Childermass' bedding.

Once the maids had left, Childermass was then left alone for some time. He used this opportunity to wash and shave in the warm water that had been provided for him and to get dressed (for along with the water, Childermass' valise containing his belongings had also been brought into the room, allowing him to procure a clean shirt).

Throughout all of this, Mr Segundus slept on. Childermass attempted not to think about how he and Mr Segundus were now truly alone for the first time, nor how the warmth of Mr Segundus' soul, as it lay beneath Childermass' clean shirt, represented a power over Mr Segundus that Childermass dreaded to weild. Why, at any moment, Childermass could say, "Mr Segundus, I command you to..." and Mr Segundus would do that very thing.

Just as Childermass' heart had begun racing fast in his chest once more, Mr Honeyfoot arrived, bringing with him his ever-present cheer and dispersing Childermass' immediate fears.

As they had done with their supper, Childermass and Mr Honeyfoot took their breakfast in Mr Segundus' bed-chamber. When they were nearing the end of this meal, and were drinking their cups of coffee (which, after only half a night's sleep, Childermass took black and very strong), there came a shifting noise from the bed. Shortly afterwards Mr Segundus rolled over, muttered something unintelligible, and opened his eyes.

Mr Honeyfoot was out of his chair in an instant (nearly spilling his coffee in the process). "My dear Mr Segundus, you are awake again! How very long you have been asleep! Do you feel well?"

Mr Segundus did not answer, but glanced blearily at the occupants of his room and the remains of their breakfast spread out on the small table between them. He flushed slightly. "Mr Honeyfoot... I..."

"Oh!" said Mr Honeyfoot, following Mr Segundus' gaze. "Do not fret, dear sir. We have been breakfasting here so that Mr Childermass need not leave your side unnecessarily and cause you to feel ill again. Indeed, we have been here all night." Mr Honeyfoot turned to give Childermass a smile. "We have been nurses of the most conscientious sort! Not that you have needed much nursing, Mr Segundus. You seemed peaceful all night. Were you, sir? Peaceful, that is?"

At this, Mr Segundus stammered out several attempts to thank Mr Honeyfoot and Childermass for granting him so much of their time and concern.

Childermass smiled at him (indeed, it had been difficult to stop smiling since Mr Segundus had woken). "Think nothing of it, Mr Segundus. But you must answer Mr Honeyfoot's question. How do you feel this morning?"

Thus Mr Segundus wrinkled his brow in thought for some moments and said that, though tired still, he felt a lot better than he had the day before. He also mentioned that he was now rather hungry.

This is hardly a surprising statement from one who has not eaten since breakfast the previous day, and the room soon became a hive of activity as Mr Honeyfoot's and Childermass' breakfast things were taken away, more breakfast things were brought in for Mr Segundus, and other actions were performed (such as once again passing Mr Segundus the chamber pot, and also passing him the basin to wash his face in) so that he could be in as much comfort as possible.

In the performance of these tasks it was discovered that, though Mr Segundus was not yet strong enough to get out of bed, he could however sit quite happily when propped up by enough pillows. While Mr Segundus was therefore sitting up and eating, Mr Honeyfoot and Childermass recounted to him the events he had missed, namely Childermass' and Vinculus' removal to Mr Honeyfoot's house, and Mr Honeyfoot's and Childermass' thoughts upon a spell to return Mr Segundus' soul to him.

Thankfully, Mr Segundus seemed more lucid than he had been the previous day, and he was quite able to enter into discussions of his previous performance of Martin Pale's Restoration and Rectification (though Mr Segundus seemed rather solemn to speak of it). These discussions, however, weren't able to continue unimpeded, for Mrs Honeyfoot then entered with many effusive remarks as to Mr Segundus' improving health.

Mrs Honeyfoot also happened to make a number of comments about the need to find occupation for Vinculus, which caused Mr Honeyfoot to declare that Vinculus would become the object of intense magical study just as soon as the upcoming spell had been performed and Mr Segundus' soul had been returned to him. It was at this point that Mr Honeyfoot and Mr Segundus fell into something of a conversation about the writing upon Vinculus' body, during which Mr Segundus looked happier and more animated than he had since he had first fallen ill.

Childermass was not at all concerned to discover these intentions regarding Vinculus (after all, Childermass was himself keen to recruit Mr Segundus into that very field of study), but he took pains to remind Mr Honeyfoot and Mr Segundus that their aim on that day was the return of Mr Segundus' soul.

Thus it was that once Mr Segundus had finished eating and was settled, the business of performing Pale's Restoration and Rectification was begun. A magical implement necessary for the spell was formed by tying together two of Mrs Honeyfoot's sewing needles. By this point the room had grown rather crowded, for in the creation of the magical implement word had got out about the house that some magic was soon to take place (though for most of the household, who had not heard the cause of Mr Segundus' illness, the exact reason for the magic was something of a mystery).

As more and more of the household entered Mr Segundus' bed-chamber, poor Mr Segundus seemed to grow rather pale and silent. (Indeed, would any person like to have so many people staring at them when they are ill and in bed and dressed in nothing more than a nightshirt?) Thankfully, it took only one pointed remark from Childermass about the delicacy of Mr Segundus' health, and the delicacy of spell-casting also, before Mrs Honeyfoot rose from her seat beside the bed and ushered all save Mr Honeyfoot and Childermass from the room.

Mr Segundus seemed calmer now that only the three of them remained, though he did not appear particularly jovial. In contrast, it was not possible to see Mr Honeyfoot in higher spirits. He eagerly urged that Childermass should be the one to perform the spell, "For you hold Mr Segundus' soul, Mr Childermass, whereas I do not; besides which, you have seen Mr Segundus perform the spell before." This last utterance was accompanied a friendly smile toward Mr Segundus, at which Mr Segundus grew a little pink.

And so Childermass performed the spell. He removed the locket from around his neck and placed it instead around the neck of Mr Segundus. Then Childermass took up the magical implement (being the sewing needles aforesaid), recited the correct words, performed the correct gestures, and waited.

"Now then!" said Mr Honeyfoot once all was over. "Mr Segundus, how do you feel?"

Flushing, Mr Segundus looked down at the locket and grasped it. "I..." he said. He removed the locket from his neck and opened it. There inside was the lock of hair that all had seen before. "I do not think it has worked. I do not feel any different."

"Hmph." Mr Honeyfoot sat back down (for he had been too excited to sit while the magic was being performed). "Do you feel any different, Mr Childermass?"

"Truly?" Childermass looked at him. "No."

Mr Segundus flushed some more, and held out the locket to Childermass. "Here, Mr Childermass; it is best you take this again."

And indeed, when Childermass once more slipped the locket around his neck, he was met with that same joyous glow that it always gave him. Yet the pleasant feeling from the locket was not strong enough to prevent the bitter disappointment that filled Childermass at the same time. He had not realised it, but it seems that he had placed much of his hope in the performance of this spell; for if Pale's Restoration and Rectification did not work, would there be any way of relieving Mr Segundus from Childermass' dark presence?

"Oh dear," said Mr Honeyfoot, perhaps noticing Childermass' unhappiness. "But I thought the spell was performed correctly. Mr Segundus, was not the spell performed correctly?"

"As far as I can tell," replied Mr Segundus. He looked down. "Though I am but a poor judge. I imagine Mr Childermass will be a better judge than I; he has seen the spell performed before, whereas I, being so involved at the time, can hardly remember what I did."

"Do not do yourself an injustice, Mr Segundus," urged Mr Honeyfoot. Yet still he looked to Childermass. "What say you, sir?"

Childermass frowned and sat down. He pressed his hand over the locket, more for the comforting feel of it than for anything else. After some moments he said, "Between this instance of the spell and Mr Segundus' performing of it upon Lady Pole, I can think of only one difference."

Both Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot looked to him.

"Mr Segundus," continued Childermass, "was able to restore Lady Pole's finger (and her liberty) after they had been taken from her without her consent. Whereas Mr Segundus differs in that he has given his soul to me quite freely." He turned to Mr Segundus, who flushed. "Mr Segundus, what spell did you use yesterday?"

At this, poor Mr Segundus flushed even harder. "I am afraid I do not remember," said he, looking beseechingly to Mr Honeyfoot, who gave him a kind smile.

"Well, that is to be expected," said Mr Honeyfoot. "One cannot remember everything that one does upon the spur of the moment; indeed, Mr Segundus, it was very valiant of you to perform the spell at all."

"It seems to me," said Childermass, "that we are unable to restore the soul to Mr Segundus when Mr Segundus has given it away, for he is no longer its rightful owner. Having been given freely, the soul sees itself as my possession, and any attempt to restore it would instead restore it merely to me."

"Oh!" said Mr Honeyfoot, leaning forward. "Well, then! If this situation doesn't require a restoration, then perhaps, Mr Childermass, you could simply give the soul to Mr Segundus."

Childermass gave a brief smile. "Perhaps." He thought about it. "Perhaps it might indeed be that simple. It is at least worth a try." He took off the locket and held it out. "Mr Segundus, I give you this soul."

Mr Honeyfoot looked eagerly between the two of them. "Anything?"

Childermass frowned down at the locket, which hadn't changed in the slightest.

"No," said Mr Segundus quietly, shaking his head.

"Ah, this is a conundrum," muttered Mr Honeyfoot, running a hand over his chin. "It seems that it is not so easy after all. At least, not without knowing what spell Mr Segundus used to give you the soul in the first place."

Childermass looked down at the locket. "It is understandable, I think, that it is not possible to give away something as potent as a soul so simply," he mused. "It is, after all, a very unequal transaction."

"Unequal?" asked Mr Honeyfoot. "Do you mean that to have more success in giving Mr Segundus the soul, Mr Segundus would do well to give you something of equal value in return?"

"Yes," agreed Childermass, then huffed. "But whatever could Mr Segundus give that is worth his soul? I will not have him give me his life."

Poor Mr Segundus appeared to turn rather pale at this.

"Oh no!" exclaimed Mr Honeyfoot. "No! No! We could not do anything that would endanger Mr Segundus' life!"

For some moments, silence reigned.

"I am very sorry," said Mr Segundus, "for putting you both to so much trouble."

Childermass took a deep breath. "It is nothing," said he. "I am hardly put out by staying in such a comfortable house with two magicians for company." He smiled at them both. "It is true that we have not found a cure as soon as I had hoped, but I am sure that with further study something will come to us, by and by."

Seeing, then, that there was no other option open but to attempt to find another suitable spell, Mr Honeyfoot went to seek out some relevant books from his library (though, it must be said that Mr Honeyfoot owned only books _about_ magic, rather than the more potent books _of_ magic, which, since the disappearance of Mr Norrell, were now very rare indeed). In this task, Childermass joined him.

When they had found a good number of books that looked promising, and were just about to return with them to Mr Segundus' room, Childermass declared, "I have hope, Mr Honeyfoot, that even if we do not find a spell that allows us to return the soul to Mr Segundus, we will at least find a spell that will transfer its ownership to you."

"To me?" Mr Honeyfoot paused in the act of loading books into his arms. "Oh no! I have already told you, Mr Childermass, that I cannot take it!"

Childermass thought back to the night he had just spent and his fear that it was only the presence of Mr Honeyfoot that had prevented Childermass from using the locket for some dreadful action. "You do not understand," said Childermass. "I cannot keep Mr Segundus' soul; all will go ill if I do."

"Oh come, sir!" cried Mr Honeyfoot, hefting the books in his arms. "It can hardly be so bad as all that!"

Childermass held his gaze. "It is. Mr Honeyfoot, you must be aware that I am not a good man. Do you not remember how I have thwarted Mr Segundus at every turn? How I closed down his school; how I bought up books so that he might have none; how I aided in dissolving the York Society of Magicians, which included stopping up your own study of magic, sir."

Mr Honeyfoot looked at the books around them and grew a little red in the face. He chuckled slightly. "I, ah... couldn't bear to give up my books about magic even so, which I suppose is fortuitous in our current situation." He put down his armful of books and contemplated them upon the table. "You are wrong, Mr Childermass," said he after a moment. "You are not a bad man." Mr Honeyfoot looked up. "You have done what Mr Norrell wished, but you have helped magic where you could, and you have helped Mr Segundus where you could also. Good heavens, sir, you have re-founded the York Society and brought us the best book of all!"

"Yet still, Mr Honeyfoot, you do not know me," said Childermass. "You have seen how easy it is for me to compel Mr Segundus to do whatever I wish. Would you truly allow me such power?"

Mr Honeyfoot looked at him for a long while. "Yes," said he, eventually. "I would. Mr Segundus has given you that power; he intended you to have his soul. And," said Mr Honeyfoot, smiling, "where you say that I do not know you, then perhaps you do not likewise know Mr Segundus. He is one of the best judges of character I have met. While he may seem meek, he is nonetheless perceptive and careful. I know that he would not give you his soul if he at all thought you meant him ill. And, indeed, I think his judgement quite sound upon that matter, for what have you done since you entered this house but strive to make Mr Segundus well again?"

Childermass grimaced. "Then you do not mean to help me."

"No," replied Mr Honeyfoot, loading the books into his arms once more. "I mean instead for the both of us to help Mr Segundus." Here, he looked up with a kindly smile. "Come, Mr Childermass. All will be well; between the three of us we shall soon find a spell to make Mr Segundus whole again, and then you shall be free to once more go about the country with no hindrance."


	5. Chapter 5

The next week and a half marked a period of slow recovery for Mr Segundus' health and a period of complete frustration in all attempts to return his soul to him.

On the day after Pale's Restoration and Rectification had been performed, Mr Segundus seemed well enough to leave his bed. With some ado (for Mr Honeyfoot insisted that the help of a servant was unnecessary) Mr Honeyfoot and Childermass between them were able to remove Mr Segundus' nightshirt, dress him in his normal clothes, and generally do everything else that was needed to complete his toilet. This was no easy task, for Mr Segundus was still too weak to stand for very long (and he kept thanking them overmuch for their assistance), but soon Mr Segundus was fully-dressed and escorted to a comfortable chair in the corner of his room.

Mr Segundus seemed much happier to be out of bed (as would anyone in such a situation), but he nevertheless fell asleep in the chair several times throughout the day.

Childermass was glad to see Mr Segundus' improvement, and he was glad also of Mr Segundus' help; for, during those times when Mr Segundus was awake, he joined Childermass and Mr Honeyfoot in seeking out spells that might be tried to return Mr Segundus' soul to him.

After their experiment the previous day, the magicians' course of study now took three paths. The first was to try to determine what spell Mr Segundus had used to give his soul to Childermass at the fairy market. This was, unfortunately, not very easy; Mr Segundus did not seem to have much memory of the event, and none of the spells that Childermass and Mr Honeyfoot could think of seemed at all likely.

The second course of study was to look for a spell that would make a person whole again. It is true, of course, that Mr Segundus' soul appeared to see itself as Childermass' possession and so could not be "returned" to its rightful owner (for it would be returned only to Childermass himself), but the magicians fancied that this would not prevent Mr Segundus, in a magical sense, from being seen as missing something. Several spells were thus found that would restore items to "wholeness" (refilling sacks of flour, removing bites from apples, and so forth) but, alas, none of these worked when applied to Mr Segundus.

Finally, the third course of study attempted to discover any way that a person might perform an unequal magical exchange. After all, the magicians fancied that there must be a way for Childermass to simply give Mr Segundus the soul without Mr Segundus having to forfeit his life in return. This was, however, a rather difficult task, for every book they read appeared to make the assumption that magical transactions must of necessity be equal and balanced. Indeed, performing an unequal transaction seemed generally to be thought possible only when the spell-caster was very powerful, such as a fairy or (so said references to the more antiquated books) a saint. Attempting to summon a fairy was thought to be a very bad idea by all three of Mr Segundus, Mr Honeyfoot and Childermass, and attempting to summon a saint was... Well, this occasioned a great deal of discussion between them, which resulted eventually in Mr Honeyfoot and Mr Segundus concluding that such a superstitious attempt was unlikely to have any effect whatsoever (while Childermass smiled a number of wry smiles and said nothing).

All this discussion and study did not, of course, take place merely over the space of one day. Instead these researches kept the three magicians occupied for over a week, and indeed looked set to carry on for much longer.

As the days passed, Mr Segundus continued to grow better. Two days after he had first risen from bed, he was well enough to make the journey downstairs. (Though his legs were rather weak and Childermass and a servant were required to carry him for large parts of it.) Once downstairs Mr Segundus sat beside the fire in the drawing room, with a blanket over his knees, and, it must be said, fell asleep for large portions of time there also.

Still, it seems that the household was very happy to see Mr Segundus up and about. Mrs Honeyfoot and the servants made much of him, and Miss Honeyfoot appeared glad to speak with him after so many days of he sequestered away in his room.

Childermass was present for these meetings between Mr Segundus and Miss Honeyfoot (indeed, Childermass was almost always in the same room as Mr Segundus at any given time, so as to make sure that Mr Segundus didn't grow ill from a lack of proximity to his soul). Their conversations for the most part consisted of Miss Honeyfoot asking after Mr Segundus' health, and Mr Segundus giving such answers as his modesty would allow. Miss Honeyfoot (like her mother) smiled greatly to see Mr Segundus growing well again, and on Miss Honeyfoot's second appearance her little spaniel was with her also, which ran about and wagged its tail and generally showed all signs of excitement at once more having Mr Segundus to scratch it behind the ears.

Whatever Childermass might think about such meetings and joyful scenes with Miss Honeyfoot, no-one else knew, for Childermass took care to keep such thoughts to himself.

Once Mr Segundus had removed downstairs the pace of their magical enquiry slackened somewhat. It seems, perhaps, that Mr Segundus' increasing health caused he and Mr Honeyfoot to think the return of Mr Segundus' soul less urgent. It must also be stated that now that Mr Segundus was downstairs, Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot were exposed to other magical temptations (that is to say: the presence of Vinculus, who had not cared to make himself present upstairs in the sick room).

Childermass' sense of urgency had not left him, and he was as anxious as ever to have Mr Segundus' soul returned to him, but he could well-understand what a distraction Vinculus and the Raven King's book might make. (Indeed, were Mr Segundus' wellbeing not uppermost in Childermass' mind, he would have been distracted by Vinculus also.)

What must it have been like for Mr Honeyfoot and Mr Segundus to find themselves living under the same roof as the Raven King's own words? Doubtless anyone with a magical turn of mind would have been just as intrigued if, like Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot, they suddenly found themselves able to study the writing upon Vinculus' skin at their own leisure.

Oh, certainly, Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot would always start their day with the intention of looking into magic to aid Mr Segundus' soul (for Mr Honeyfoot was not so heartless as to ignore the plight of his friend), but there would then come some point during their magical discussions where someone would mention the Raven King. From speaking of the Raven King's magic, it was only a short step to speaking of the Raven King's book; and once the Raven King's book was under discussion, Mr Honeyfoot would almost always get so excited that Vinculus must be sent for. (These summonings were not, however, quite so easy as one might expect, for Mr Honeyfoot's servants found it could be quite difficult to flush Vinculus out from wherever he had hidden himself that day, which was more often than not the pantry.)

Childermass was willing to give Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot some time towards their study of the King's book. After working for a magician for the better part of his life, Childermass knew that in order to direct a magician's interests into the area that one wished, one must spend an amount of time giving that magician free reign over his researches so that he felt himself his own master. And it must also be admitted that a significant part of Childermass enjoyed observing Mr Segundus while he was studying Vinculus.

There was nothing quite so likely to bring out one of Mr Segundus' smiles, or his look of abstracted concentration (the one with the pursed lips, where his hair stuck all at odd angles from his having run his hands through it), than to study the King's book. And this was not for naught, for Mr Segundus (and Mr Honeyfoot, to give him his due) had had a number of good ideas as to ways to begin a project of translation, as well as thoughts upon the particular meaning of several symbols.

It was with no small amount of pride that Childermass heard Mr Segundus one morning declare that he meant to write an article about the discovery of the King's book for submission to the London papers.

"I know you wished me to write to the papers before, Mr Childermass," said Mr Segundus, flushing slightly, "to tell the world of Mr Norrell's achievements in the Minster. This time I have thought to preempt your asking me by taking up the task on my own initiative." He paused for a moment, which gave Mr Honeyfoot time to interject that he thought it a marvellous idea and that it was very good of Mr Segundus to think of it.

"That is," said Mr Segundus, hesitating. "If you are quite happy for me to go ahead with my article, Mr Childermass. It will, of course, take me some time to write in my current state, but Vinculus was your discovery. I would not like to publish anything without your approval."

"Worry not, Mr Segundus," replied Childermass with a smile. "I had indeed thought to ask you to write an article for me (the last being so well-written). My plan is to introduce the writing upon Vinculus to as many people as possible. Therefore, to spread the word through the papers would do me a great service. However..." He gave Mr Segundus a serious look. "...take note, sir: I had not yet asked you about writing the article, for I do not wish to tax you during your recovery."

"Thank you, Mr Childermass, for thinking of my health," said Mr Segundus, his cheeks pink. "It is very kind of you. But I assure you that a project like this, which will engage my mind, is just the sort of thing that will help my recovery. And I mean to take my time, so as not to weary myself overly with it."

"Then all is well," conceded Childermass. "I look forward to reading it."

Mr Segundus smiled then (what a wonderful thing to receive!) and Childermass, who had meant to shortly persuade Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot to return to their research upon Mr Segundus' soul, found that he could not bear to break up the happy scene and so allowed them to continue on with Vinculus for the rest of the day.

However, as pleasant as diversions such as these were, Childermass almost always contrived to bring Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot back to researching ways that Mr Segundus' soul might be returned to him. And during those times when Mr Segundus was asleep in his chair (which was often), Childermass sought the help of Mr Honeyfoot by himself (for, as much as Childermass thought Mr Segundus a better scholar than Mr Honeyfoot; two heads are always better than one).

You see, uppermost in Childermass' mind every day was the need to find a solution to Mr Segundus' troubles; for also uppermost in Childermass' mind was the fear that he might soon cause Mr Segundus further harm through controlling Mr Segundus' actions.

The nights continued on as they had begun: Childermass and Mr Honeyfoot both slept upon truckle beds in Mr Segundus' bed-chamber. During the first few nights Childermass and Mr Honeyfoot continued to take turns in watching through the night, to ensure that help was on hand if Mr Segundus suddenly grew worse again; however, they soon left this off once their fears of Mr Segundus' relapsing left them. They were both of them quite glad of the chance to once more sleep for the whole night, with only that small period of wakefulness that commonly lies between the first and second sleeps (which Mr Honeyfoot filled with much conversation directed at Childermass, and at Mr Segundus also if he too happened to wake).

Yet Mr Honeyfoot was rather keen to seek even more comfort than the freedom to sleep the whole night, for once he and Childermass had stopped keeping their nightly watch, Mr Honeyfoot proposed that he return to his own bed-chamber and his own bed. Childermass, however, was quick to stop this turn of events. He proclaimed that he would not at all know what to do by himself if Mr Segundus did suddenly fall ill again, for who would wake the house if Mr Honeyfoot wasn't there to command them? Here Childermass added that he certainly wouldn't wish, in any quest to seek help from Mr Honeyfoot, to have to disturb the good Mrs Honeyfoot from her sleep also.

Thus Mr Honeyfoot did not leave them, but remained in his little truckle bed upon the floor, much to Childermass' relief. For if Childermass truly had been left alone with Mr Segundus for the whole night, who would there have been to prevent Childermass from abusing his power over Mr Segundus' soul?

As the days passed, Childermass' temptations did nothing to decrease. He and Mr Honeyfoot had grown to know Mr Segundus very well in their caring for him. After helping Mr Segundus to dress and undress every day, Childermass had become acquainted with Mr Segundus' naked body (the dark hair upon his chest and his calves; the thinness of his wrists and ankles; the colour of his skin). And assisting Mr Segundus up and down the stairs had made Childermass aware of how weak Mr Segundus currently was, and how light also. There was so very little to him; how easily he might be at the mercy of someone stronger!

Childermass did not sleep well (despite Mr Honeyfoot's presence) and he often lay listening to the sounds of Mr Honeyfoot and Mr Segundus in their own slumbers. How quickly, Childermass wondered, might Mr Honeyfoot wake up if Childermass suddenly thought to use Mr Segundus' soul for ill? Or, perhaps, if Childermass attempted to be quiet when he finally took it into his head to harm Mr Segundus, Mr Honeyfoot might not wake at all.

Truly, how could anyone expect Childermass to sleep easily when his heart was beating so fast?

The nights, however, weren't the worst part. Harder still were the mornings. Surprisingly, the difficulty lay not in the times that Childermass helped Mr Segundus to dress, for Mr Honeyfoot was always there also, but instead lay in those times when Mr Honeyfoot left for his own room to complete his own toilet. Then it was that Childermass was expected to dress himself, and he knew that no-one from the household would wish to enter the room and disturb him.

Alas, Childermass was disturbed enough already! He had no particular concerns about Mr Segundus seeing him with no clothes on, for Childermass had never been nice about his own privacy. (Yet sometimes he did wonder what Mr Segundus made of him, for Mr Segundus must surely by then have been as familiar with Childermass' body as Childermass was with Mr Segundus'). What Childermass found instead disturbing was the fact that these times were when he and Mr Segundus were truly alone. Who now would stop Childermass from his evil designs? And with Childermass naked also! Surely if there was any moment when Childermass would think to command Mr Segundus, it was then.

And yet Mr Segundus showed no signs of being concerned for his own safety. On the first few days, it is true, he had grown a little red about the face when Childermass had stripped himself, but Mr Segundus soon appeared to have grown accustomed to it. Why, Mr Segundus would happily talk away to Childermass about whatever topic had been engaging them before Mr Honeyfoot left, with absolutely no change from his normal demeanor.

Perhaps Mr Segundus' lack of concern was due to Childermass' success at keeping his own thoughts suppressed. After all, fearing for himself would do Mr Segundus no favours in his recovery, and so Childermass tried to act as normal as possible when he was in Mr Segundus' company (which was most of the day).

Yet Childermass wondered if perhaps he were not endangering Mr Segundus the more by not warning him of the risks he faced, for if Mr Segundus knew, he would be duly observant and cautious.

Childermass, however, kept his silence. He tried to tell himself that even a cautious mindset would not save Mr Segundus, for Childermass could compel Mr Segundus so easily that there was no way Mr Segundus could stop it even if he was prepared in advance (and how Childermass despised himself for being capable of such a thing!) But perhaps there was more. Perhaps, truthfully, Childermass did not wish to warn Mr Segundus of the dangers Childermass posed, because Childermass, despite everything, did not want Mr Segundus to think ill of him. It was, of course, a selfish thing, but it was rather nice to have Mr Segundus smile at him, and make conversation with him, and respect him (as if Mr Segundus had no concept that he and Childermass came from different stations in life, but merely took Childermass upon his merits and saw him as a fellow magician worthy of equal treatment).

After several days of this mingled fear and temptation, Childermass could bear it no longer and set upon asking the cards of Marseilles for an answer. Would Mr Segundus truly suffer at Childermass' hands, or would Childermass have the strength to withhold from doing Mr Segundus harm?

Childermass waited until the night, when both Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot were asleep, before he dared to take out his cards (for he did not wish for anyone else to see what answer the cards might make). Then, there on the blankets of his truckle bed, and in the light of the dying fire, Childermass laid out a spread.

He frowned at this spread for some time, then he picked up the cards and laid them out again. This was repeated a third time.

Childermass frowned some more. Whether he would or would not harm Mr Segundus, the cards did not deign to say. Instead, they said one thing and one thing only: change was coming, and soon.

And indeed change did arrive. Some week and a half after Mr Segundus had first taken ill, he was one morning sitting in the drawing room with Childermass and Mr Honeyfoot for company. They were all three of them engaged upon a search for a spell that would return an article (or indeed a person) to wholeness. For the purposes of practice, a freshly-bitten apple sat on the table beside them (though it had now been some hours and they had still not found a spell to practice with, so the apple had begun to turn rather brown).

"I have found here," said Mr Honeyfoot, looking up from his book, "a spell that will replenish the stock of fish in a river. Might that work, do you think?"

Mr Segundus and Childermass turned to him.

"That depends," replied Childermass, "if it replaces fish that are lost, or if it merely aims to add fish wherever fish are wanting."

Mr Segundus smiled. "Do you mean, Mr Childermass, that our apple, if we attempt the spell, might gain a plentiful supply of fish?"

Childermass laughed.

At that moment, Mrs Honeyfoot entered the room. She looked rather red about the face. "My dear," said she to Mr Honeyfoot, "might I have a word?"

Mr Honeyfoot acquiesced and together they left. Childermass and Mr Segundus watched them go.

"Perhaps," said Mr Segundus after a moment, "we ought to try the spell on the apple anyway. What do you think?"

Childermass shrugged. "Let us read the text of it; that will help us determine what the spell intends." He walked over and picked up Mr Honeyfoot's book.

The door opened. "Mr Childermass," said Mr Honeyfoot, stepping through it, "I should like to beg a moment of your time." Here, Childermass must have frowned, for Mr Honeyfoot looked between Childermass and Mr Segundus and said, "I promise I shall not keep you long."

Thus Childermass handed the book to Mr Segundus and followed Mr Honeyfoot from the room. Apologising, Mr Honeyfoot led Childermass along a corridor and down some steps to the kitchen. There they found Mrs Honeyfoot, Miss Honeyfoot and several of the servants. From the redness upon several of the faces of those present (as well as their general postures) it looked as if they had been engaged upon an argument.

"I am afraid," said Mr Honeyfoot to Childermass, "that we have something of a mutiny on our hands."

"For good reason!" interrupted Fletcher, the butler. "We have gone through more wine than..."

"You must not forget the ham," cried one of the maids. "He ate a whole ham!"

"It was only half a ham, Bessie, please," corrected Mrs Honeyfoot.

"And those three pies!" added the maid. "Mrs Walker," said she, gesturing to a woman who was standing in the corner with her arms folded, "worked for two whole days upon those pies and then they disappear down his gullet!"

"Oh, the pies weren't the worst of it," started another maid, "it was the..."

There then followed such a clamour of voices from all present that it was hard to follow any of them, save for the general impression that they were all complaining very much.

"...and," said one voice rising above the rest (it was the voice of Fletcher), "we have had enough of it, sir! Begging your pardon, but either he goes or we do."

"Oh heavens!" cried Mrs Honeyfoot. She turned to her husband. "Do you see?" said she. "Not in five and thirty years have I seen so... I will not lose all of my staff for one man!"

"I take it," said Childermass, "that you are referring to Vinculus, Mrs Honeyfoot?"

"Yes," replied Mrs Honeyfoot (as well as several others of those present, rather vehemently so).

"You see now why I have asked you here, Mr Childermass," said Mr Honeyfoot. He looked rather sheepish. "But I do not at all know what to do. If this were a normal situation, I would turn Vinculus out of the house, but I know that Vinculus is tied to you, sir, and that you are... Well, forgive me, but you are our guest and are so vital to the wellbeing of Mr Segundus that..."

"I have not worked here for this long," started the footman, "(and given you good service all the while, I should hope) to be used in this way. You will forgive me, Mr Honeyfoot; you are a good master but I..."

"Vinculus will leave this house," declared Childermass, speaking over him. "He will leave and all will be settled." Childermass bowed to Mrs Honeyfoot. "Thank you for your hospitality, madam. I am sorry to cause you this trouble. Please think well of your staff; they are not at fault. Vinculus and I will leave tomorrow, if you can bear with us for one more night."

"Oh, but..." started Mr Honeyfoot.

"Of course Mr Segundus must leave also," said Childermass. "Mr Honeyfoot, if you will be so kind as to lend us your carriage and your company, I have faith that Mr Segundus will not find the journey to Starecross too tiring."

"Bless me," cried Mrs Honeyfoot. "Do you truly think Mr Segundus well enough to travel so far? Why, he can barely make it down the stairs and, oh, when I see him asleep in that chair by the fire..."

"Sleeping in a chair and sleeping in a carriage are not so very different," replied Childermass. "Of course, madam, you will do all you can to make sure he is comfortable and warm for the journey; that is why I ask Mr Honeyfoot to accompany us, for I know that his friendship and kind offices will doubtless do Mr Segundus good."

"Well, yes," agreed Mr Honeyfoot, "but..."

"If Vinculus cannot stay here," said Childermass, "then I do not see what other option is open to us." He gave the Honeyfoots a smile. "And where else will Mr Segundus recover so well as in his own home surrounded by his own comforts?"

"I suppose he does have a point," said Mr Honeyfoot to his wife. "Indeed, now I consider it, this sounds like quite the plan to solve all our troubles!"

Childermass left the kitchen, for he was well aware that he had left Mr Segundus alone for long enough. Mr Honeyfoot followed him, clearly growing more approving of the idea by the second.

"Yes yes," Mr Honeyfoot was saying, "I think this plan will serve us all very well. Indeed, why had we not thought of this before?"

"You should send word to Starecross, sir," said Childermass, "to let them know to expect their master tomorrow. And you must have a trunk packed for Mr Segundus and for yourself, for I am certain that your companionship will be vital to Mr Segundus' swift recovery."

"Oh yes," said Mr Honeyfoot. "Yes, of course. I will stay with Mr Segundus for as long as is necessary. (And perhaps, you know, it will be even easier for us to study the King's letters when we are at Starecross, for the remoteness of the place will relieve us of distractions.)"

They returned to the drawing room to discover that Mr Segundus had once more fallen asleep in his chair. Childermass felt a pang of regret that they must move him from this kind house with he still so ill, but there was nothing else to be done. A genteel family could only be expected to put up with Childermass' and Vinculus' rough presence for so long.

Mr Honeyfoot pulled up a chair beside Mr Segundus and patted his hand to wake him.

"My dear Mr Segundus," said Mr Honeyfoot with a smile when Mr Segundus opened his eyes, "we have devised the perfect plan to make you well again! We shall send you home to Starecross, where you may be surrounded by all that is familiar and comfortable. And you must not fret, sir, for Mr Childermass and I mean to come and stay with you, so as to see that you are well."

Mr Segundus frowned, seemingly finding it difficult to absorb such a barrage of information when he had just woken. "I am sorry," said he. "Return to Starecross, did you say?"

"Why, yes!" replied Mr Honeyfoot. "With myself and Mr Childermass. It will be just the thing to make you well again, for the comforts of one's own home cannot be overstated!"

Mr Segundus now was smiling. "That is very kind of you," said he. "To think so much of my wellbeing, and to go as far as to accompany me also. You will be most welcome at Starecross for as long as you wish to stay, both of you." Here Mr Segundus looked to Childermass, then flushed (perhaps realising that Childermass must stay at Starecross whether Childermass wished it or not).

Childermass bowed. "Thank you, sir. And you must rest assured that all the preparations are in hand, so you need not trouble yourself about them."

"Now then," said Mr Honeyfoot, apparently fancying that all was settled, "how did you get on with that spell while I was gone?"

"Spell?" Mr Segundus frowned at the book that lay in his lap. "Oh, forgive me, Mr Honeyfoot. I meant to read it, but then I fell asleep and... Do you know, I dreamt about fish? I thought perhaps that I had turned into one."

Childermass laughed. "Come, sir," said he, sitting down. "Let us not tax ourselves with spells now, as we have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow. You were reading about the King's letters yesterday, were you not? I should like to hear about that."

Mr Segundus brightened (as Childermass had hoped he would) and set to telling them all he had learned.

Thus it was that belongings were packed, letters to Starecross were sent, and everything was prepared for their journey. The only thing that was not readied in advance was Vinculus, for Childermass feared that Vinculus would devise some way to remain in York if given any forewarning of his removal.

On the morning of the next day, Mr Segundus was helped up into Mr Honeyfoot's carriage, with as many blankets and pillows and foot warmers as it was possible to transport him with. Meanwhile, Childermass roused Vinculus from his bed (where he was still asleep) and enticed him into the carriage with the aid of a bottle of claret. Childermass' first aim had been for Vinculus to ride on the box with the coachman, but Mr Honeyfoot and Mr Segundus would hear nothing of it and both invited Vinculus to sit inside the carriage with them (which Vinculus agreed to with great aplomb).

Childermass was likewise invited to join them in the carriage, but he instead mounted his horse. (For a long carriage ride with he sitting so close to Mr Segundus' frail body would do none of them any good).

There then followed a rather emotional goodbye. Miss Honeyfoot kissed her father on the cheek and shook Mr Segundus' hand, wishing them a good journey and good health. Mrs Honeyfoot kissed Mr Honeyfoot on the cheek a great many more times and almost looked set upon kissing Mr Segundus too in her enthusiasm, but instead merely embraced him in a tight hug.

"You must write to me every day, my dear," said she to her husband, "to let me know how you both get on. And do not spare anything that will help Mr Segundus to grow well again. I will not have you eating poorly or getting caught in any of those other neglectful habits that you gentlemen are wont to fall into when there are no women present. Now, I have packed plenty of food for you all, but you must let me know if I have not given you enough and I shall send more in an instant." She shook both of their hands. "Mr Segundus, you must not let my husband keep you up late with his talking, and you must charge your housekeeper to make Starecross warm. Doubtless she knows her business, but she will answer to me if she thinks to put the preparations for the new school above your own health."

"That is very kind of you," replied Mr Segundus, pressing her hand and letting her go. "You are very good to me, but I am certain I shall grow well in this good company. Before you know it I will return to York as hale as ever."

"Come on now!" called Mr Honeyfoot, motioning for the footman to shut the carriage door. "We must leave, for I do not at all like the look of those clouds on the horizon." He blew his wife and his daughter a kiss. "I shall keep Mr Segundus safe and sound; you must not worry. We shall have a jolly old time together."

Thus with some final goodbyes on both sides, the carriage set off with Childermass and his horse following behind.

Mr Honeyfoot was correct about the clouds. Halfway into their journey the rain began falling, first slowly and then heavily, dripping from the brim of Childermass' hat and making the moors about them turn a dull grey. Still, the roads had not yet grown muddy, so the carriage was not much hindered in its progress. Indeed, soon enough Childermass was riding up to the coachman and directing him to turn to the right, so that they might arrive at Starecross in a roundabout way, thus avoiding the small packhorse bridge that the carriage would have found impossible to cross.

This diversion caused only a little delay and then the carriage was pulling into the courtyard in front of the low, stone buildings of Starecross Hall.

Childermass wasted no time in jumping down from his horse and striding over to the front door, which he banged on with his fist. "Come on. Come on," he shouted. "Your master has arrived and needs to be helped into the house as quickly as possible."

Two manservants and a maid issued out, clearly unhappy with having to run out into the teeming rain, but seemingly not willing to deny Childermass and the rather stern look he had put upon his face.

It was Childermass himself who helped Mr Segundus from the carriage. Mr Segundus appeared to have just woken and so did not seem to mind the rain or, indeed, where he was. He leant on Childermass' wet shoulder and silently acquiesced as Childermass passed him to a servant at the threshold of the house.

After this, several short minutes were all that were needed to ensure that the belongings were carried through into the house, that the horses were being tended to in the stables, and that Mr Segundus had been taken up to the warmth of his room to change into dry clothes.

Satisfied that everything was being seen to, Childermass went in search of Vinculus, whom he found slumped wetly in a chair beside the fire in the great hall (a big, empty sort of a room, with seemingly half-finished wooden panelling covering the grey, stone walls).

Childermass pulled up a chair of his own to the fire and sat down. He looked to Vinculus, who didn't deign to look at him in return.

"Listen to me," said Childermass. "I won't have any more of your antics."

Vinculus sighed.

"It is your fault," said Childermass, "that we have been forced to remove here. And if you don't find it as comfortable as Mr Honeyfoot's house, then you have only yourself to blame."

Vinculus tipped his head back in his chair and said, "It was only half a ham."

"You enraged the entirety of Mr Honeyfoot's staff," countered Childermass.

Vinculus smiled up at the ceiling.

"I will not have you enraging Mr Segundus' staff as well."

"It seems to me," said Vinculus, "that it is _your_ fault that we are here. Not mine. I am not the one who has decided that you must play nurse to Mr Segundus in his illness."

"That was not my decision either," retorted Childermass.

Vinculus looked at him with something of a grin. "Was it not?"

Childermass sighed. "Understand this, Vinculus. If the household here does not tolerate you then you shall be turned out of doors. And don't expect me to follow you."

Vinculus shrugged. "I have walked these moors before. I can walk them again. Soon get back to York."

"No you won't," countered Childermass, baring his teeth in what could have been considered a knowing smile. "I have come to learn many spells in my line of work, and one of them concerns the formation of labyrinths. Perhaps you would like to test how far you can get when I have made it so that every path you take leads you back to where you started."

Vinculus peered at him. "I don't believe you."

"Then go!" said Childermass. "Leave this house and we shall see who is correct." He closed his eyes and began, under his breath, to mutter a...

"Well," said Vinculus quickly, "I don't mean to prove your falsehoods just yet."

Childermass opened his eyes to see Vinculus looking a little disconcerted.

"I need to rest my strength before I go wandering again," said Vinculus. "But don't you doubt that I will. In time. When I am ready."

Childermass laughed.

Vinculus pouted. "Go back to Mr Segundus," said he. "Can't a man rest by the fire in peace?"

And so Childermass took his leave. He didn't, however, go straight to Mr Segundus; instead he made his way down to the kitchen. There he met the housekeeper, a short conversation with whom satisfied Childermass that she was a sensible woman who was aware of the comforts Mr Segundus required in his illness.

Before Childermass left her, he said one more thing: "We are also joined by a vagabond who goes by the name of Vinculus. He can be trying, but will cause no great harm." Childermass reached into his pocket and pulled out sixpence, which he gave to the housekeeper. "If he causes trouble, do not to worry Mr Segundus about it but come straight to me. I shall see things right."

The housekeeper looked rather surprised to hear such a thing, but she curtsied and thanked Childermass anyway.

When all was done Childermass hastily sought out Mr Segundus, whom he found in his bed-chamber (a large room, containing an equally large bed and dark panelling) with Mr Honeyfoot. They were sitting beside the fire, and both appeared to have used the time since their arrival to change into dry clothes.

Mr Segundus, it seems, must have heard Childermass enter, for Mr Segundus turned toward the door and, on seeing Childermass, started in his chair. "Good heavens, Mr Childermass!" cried Mr Segundus. "You are soaked from head to toe!"

Frowning, Childermass looked down at himself. He was indeed wet, for he had not yet bothered to remove his hat, overcoat or boots, and all were dripping rainwater onto the rug.

"Mr Honeyfoot," said Mr Segundus, "please can you ring the bell? We must have Mr Childermass' things carried up here immediately."

"My apologies," said Childermass, removing his hat and giving a brief bow. "I did not think of your carpets."

Mr Segundus frowned, as if Childermass had just said something absurd. "The carpets? Oh no Mr Childermass, I do not mean... (Mr Honeyfoot, will you be so kind as to ring again?) You will catch cold like that. Did not someone tend to you when you arrived? Forgive me. I had just woken and I..."

At this moment, a manservant arrived. Mr Segundus pressed him to bring up Childermass' things and help him dress, and Mr Segundus did not appear to be settled until all this was accomplished.

Finally, when Childermass was warm and dry and had joined Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot by the fire, Mr Segundus seemed set on apologising again. "Do forgive me, Mr Childermass. I mean for you to be shown all the kindness here that you received at Mr Honeyfoot's house. It is an honour to have you as my guest; it truly is."

The vigour of Mr Segundus' apologies had turned his cheeks pink, and Childermass (though it was surely the proximity of the fire) felt an answering warmth as he thanked Mr Segundus for his hospitality.

Now that all were ready, they were summoned down to the great hall for dinner (with Childermass and a servant helping Mr Segundus down the stairs). Vinculus was there also, and it looked as if he too had found a dry set of clothes in the interim.

The dinner table was not quite so laden as it had been at the Honeyfoots' house, nor was the food quite so good, but it was still warm and filling, and Childermass noted with approval that the housekeeper seemed to have done what she could to make the dishes suitable for an invalid.

Mr Segundus apologised again. "It is not quite the fare that the pupils of the school will expect, but we have only just started our preparations." He gestured at the seemingly half-finished panelling on the walls. "Our needs with Lady Pole were not so great, whereas now Mrs Lennox wishes me to hire a butler and a French cook (though how I may set about finding one of those, I do not know). And there are all sorts of other things that must be readied besides."

"You are doing very well," Mr Honeyfoot assured him. "What a place this will be!"

"Do not concern yourself too much with the school for now, Mr Segundus," said Childermass. "It is important that you rest."

"Yes," agreed Mr Segundus, "but..."

"I know of several French cooks in York and in London who might be looking for new situations," continued Childermass. "I shall contact them for you. And I shall write to Mrs Lennox also, to inform her of your illness, so that she will not expect too much of you at this time."

"Oh," said Mr Segundus.

Childermass looked at him. "Please, do not think that I am attempting to stop your plan of opening a school, sir. (Truly, there is nothing that would suit England better than to have a clutch of new magicians trained by yourself.) It is merely that I do not want you to retard your recovery through overexertion. Until you are well again you must think of yourself as being as at leisure here as you were at Mr Honeyfoot's house." Childermass gave him a smile. "But if you find there is anything that cannot wait, then you may tell me and I shall see to it."

Mr Segundus' cheeks had grown rather pink once more. "That is very good of you, Mr Childermass. That is very good indeed. I had not quite... Thank you..."

Childermass smiled again, but said no more, and allowed Mr Honeyfoot to steer the conversation onto the subject of French cooks and French food and whether they were truly as good as people proclaimed.

After dinner the evening passed quietly. Mr Honeyfoot persuaded Vinculus to roll up his shirt so that they might study the writing upon his left arm, and Vinculus fell asleep in front of the fire in the process.

Vinculus was not the only one to do so, for Mr Segundus fell asleep as well. Normally the chance to view the King's writings would have kept Mr Segundus engaged and awake, but he must truly have been tired from the journey (or perhaps from the strain of acting as host). Again Childermass felt a pang of regret that he had forced Mr Segundus to move before he was ready, and he hoped very much that Mr Segundus' recovery wouldn't suffer for it.

Yet soon enough Mr Segundus was roused for supper and then it was time for them all to retire to bed. Childermass rang for the housekeeper and enquired if two truckle beds had been made up in Mr Segundus' room.

"Two?" asked Mr Segundus, frowning. "Forgive me, but we only need the one. I have already asked for the green bedroom to be made up for Mr Honeyfoot to sleep in."

Childermass' chest tightened at this unexpected news. "Consider, Mr Segundus," said he, "you are tired from the journey. Surely it will be best to have both Mr Honeyfoot and myself present to care for you."

Mr Segundus shook his head. "I am afraid th..."

"Come Mr Honeyfoot," said Childermass, turning instead to that gentleman, "would you truly..."

"Mr Childermass," said Mr Segundus, sounding more forthright than Childermass had ever heard him, "I am sorry, but no. In his own house Mr Honeyfoot may do as he wishes, but in my house Mr Honeyfoot will sleep in a proper bed. He is an old man (forgive me, Mr Honeyfoot) and will feel it to his disadvantage if he is forced to sleep for so many nights upon the floor. I will not allow it."

Childermass felt his panic rising. "But surely..."

"I apologise," said Mr Segundus, looking to his feet, "that I cannot afford you the same treatment, sir. You ought to be treated well, and I am ashamed that I cannot give you a room of your own." He frowned or a moment, then looked up. "Perhaps you should take my bed, Mr Childermass, and I shall sleep upon the floor. I will not mind."

"No," replied Childermass, aghast, "I would not drive a sick man from his own bed."

Mr Segundus nodded, looking down again. "Then I am afraid there is nothing to be done. I am sorry."

"It is not my own treatment that I am concerned about," countered Childermass, "but that..."

"Mr Childermass," said Mr Honeyfoot, smiling, "do not worry. All will be well. You must forgive an old man the use of a proper bed, but do not think that I mean Mr Segundus any harm by it. Why, for the past week all three of us have slept peacefully and have not been interrupted by the slightest alarm about Mr Segundus' health, which has been improving steadily. I have faith that Mr Segundus will grow even better here, now he is in his own home. But, you know, if Mr Segundus does take ill again, then you must ring the bell and I will come running; after all there is no worry now that you will rouse Mrs Honeyfoot at the same time."

Childermass had no more arguments to counter this onslaught, and was forced to resign himself unhappily to the situation. "I will indeed ring the bell as soon as there is any need of you," said he to Mr Honeyfoot, "and I hope that you will keep your word."

Mr Honeyfoot assured him that he would, and thus they all made their way to bed; Mr Segundus and Childermass to Mr Segundus' room, and Mr Honeyfoot to a room of his own.

Childermass' heart was beating fast in his chest as he and Mr Segundus' manservant, Charles, helped Mr Segundus up the stairs to his room.

Charles assisted Mr Segundus with undressing and putting on his nightshirt, but Childermass couldn't bear to be part of it. Indeed, he couldn't even bear to look at Mr Segundus while he was unclothed. (For would that not fuel Childermass' dangerous desires even more?)

And so Childermass removed his own clothes until he was down to just his shirt, then he climbed into the truckle bed without further ado. Behind him there came the sounds of Charles helping Mr Segundus into his own bed, then Mr Segundus thanking Charles and bidding him goodnight, and finally the bedroom door opening and closing, and Charles' footsteps receding along the corridor.

Mr Segundus' bed-chamber at Starecross was not quite so prettily decorated as the bed-chamber he had been given at the Honeyfoots' house. Instead it was larger and more sparse, but the fire (which Childermass lay beside) was nevertheless hearty and warm, and the mattress and blankets of the truckle bed were soft. However, Childermass did not feel comfortable at all.

"Forgive me," Mr Segundus was saying, rather sleepily. "I apologise for not providing any interesting conversation, but I find myself quite worn out."

"It is nothing," replied Childermass, trying to make his voice as calm as possible, but not daring to look at Mr Segundus either. "Goodnight. Sleep well."

"Goodnight," replied Mr Segundus, though it was rather slurred and difficult to make out.

Never before had Childermass known such horror as he felt then. Mr Segundus was tired and weak and could make no opposition to whatever Childermass might choose to do. And Mr Segundus' soul lay warm beneath Childermass' shirt like the greatest of temptations.

Now, finally, they were truly alone, and would be for many hours! Who now would stop Childermass if he thought to rise from his truckle bed and say, Mr Segundus, I command you to wake. Mr Segundus, I command you to remove your nightshirt. Mr Segundus, I command you to touch me.

Oh, and was this not what Childermass had desired for several years? That in Mr Segundus he might find a partner in carnal pleasures? Had not Childermass thought and thought upon Mr Segundus' dark eyes and his thin chest and his fine wrists in lustful contemplation?

Mr Segundus, I command you to use your mouth. Mr Segundus, I command you to spread your legs. Mr Segundus, I command you to moan for me.

The hairs upon Childermass' scalp rose and he willed himself to fall asleep, for he did not want to do this thing. He had desired Mr Segundus, yes, but only as a willing participant. To think that the fragile trust that had built between them through this past week and a half would be thrown away in an instant!

He imagined the look of terror upon Mr Segundus' face when confronted with Childermass finally. He imagined Mr Segundus crying. He imagined Mr Segundus shrinking from him for ever after.

Yet surely here was hope! For if Mr Segundus could cry, then he could cry out. He could scream and shout and ring the bell, and then Mr Honeyfoot would come running to put a stop to all, and Childermass would be cast out into the cold where he belonged.

Oh, but sly Childermass had a solution to that also. It was as easy as saying: Mr Segundus, I command you to be silent. Mr Segundus, I command you not to struggle. Or worse: Mr Segundus, I command you to forget this ever happened.

Something raw ached in Childermass' throat. He was appalled that he could even think such a thing. And Mr Segundus seemed so content to have him at Starecross! Little did Mr Segundus know what danger he was in.

Come now, thought Childermass sternly to himself, do I have no strength of will? Am I truly so weak as this? I know that I am not. If I must impose myself upon Mr Segundus as soon as I rise from my truckle bed, then I shall see to it that I do not rise from my truckle bed at all; and nor shall I speak either, for in speaking I would look to command Mr Segundus to do my bidding. No. Even if it takes all my strength to do so, I shall remain still and silent until it is morning and Charles has returned. 

Now resolved, Childermass closed his eyes all the tighter and willed himself to fall asleep.

In the silence that followed, Childermass found himself listening to Mr Segundus' soft, slow breathing. Unlike Childermass it sounded as if Mr Segundus was already in the sweetest and deepest of slumbers. Why, it would be the work of a moment to steal over to his bed, to say, "Mr Segundus, I command you not to wake", and then set upon him. Childermass need only to roll him over, lift his nightshirt and...

Such contemptible thoughts! Childermass curled his hands into fists and clenched his teeth. He desperately did not wish to hurt Mr Segundus, yet he could not stop scheming ways to do it!

I will lie here, he said to himself again. I will lie here and not move one inch until this hateful night has passed.

Thus Childermass lay where he was in the truckle bed and did not rise. Yet his thoughts came so thick and fast that it took him a long time to fall asleep, and even then this sleep was only light and fitful.

At one point in the middle of the night there came the sound of Mr Segundus stirring, as if he had woken. Then, after several silent moments this was followed by a soft call of, "Mr Childermass, are you awake also?"

Childermass was indeed awake, but he did not make this known; instead he kept to his resolution and lay still and silent. Mr Segundus, for himself, made no more sounds until (what felt like some good amount of time later) his breathing again became the slow, even breathing of sleep.

It was with a great deal of unhappiness that Childermass wished he were a better man and not so susceptible to the lure of temptation. For there was nothing Childermass would have liked to do more than have a peaceful conversation with Mr Segundus in the quiet of the night. Their night-time conversations with Mr Honeyfoot had always been pleasant, and Childermass fancied that to talk with Mr Segundus alone would be more pleasant still (why, Childermass might then be able to discover Mr Segundus' thoughts upon the King's book, or upon their recent spells, or upon many other interesting subjects, all without the inconvenience of Mr Honeyfoot's enthusiastic interruptions). But this was not possible, for the entirety of Childermass' intellect was at that moment required to keep him still in his bed. Certainly, Childermass might have good intentions about chaste conversation, but he knew that as soon as he opened his mouth he would instead command Mr Segundus in some vile manner.

Thus the night continued, with Childermass falling in and out of an uncomfortable sleep.

In the morning Childermass woke to the sounds of the maid entering the room to light the fire, but still he did not rise. Instead he lay listening to the maid go about her work, and when she left, he lay listening to the sound of his own pounding heart, until finally (after what felt like an age), Charles entered to see that Mr Segundus was well.

It seems that Mr Segundus was awake also, for he and Charles quickly began upon a quiet conversation. Various sounds followed which appeared to herald Mr Segundus' being tended to and dressed. It was only once these sounds suggested that Mr Segundus was almost fully-clothed that Childermass finally allowed himself to stir.

He sat up and stretched out his arms, feeling wrung-out and all-over-stiff.

"Oh," came the voice of Mr Segundus from the bed. "You are awake, Mr Childermass? I hope we did not wake you with our noise."

"It is fine," replied Childermass, turning to him and feeling a swell of relief to see Mr Segundus sitting on the side of his bed, safe and well, as Charles tied his neckcloth. The morning light from the curtained window fell merrily upon Mr Segundus' dark hair, turning it a shining brown. Truly, whatever dangers the night had possessed appeared much lessened in the bustle and company of the dawn.

"How did you sleep?" asked Mr Segundus, sounding slightly concerned. "I apologise again that you are forced to remain here and cannot have a room of your own. The truckle bed was not too uncomfortable, I hope?"

"It was perfectly comfortable," replied Childermass with a smile. "I slept well."


	6. Chapter 6

Once Childermass had dressed, he and Charles helped Mr Segundus down the stairs to the morning room where they were to take their breakfast (and where the table was already laid for the purpose). The pretty, striped wallpaper upon the walls and the patterned rugs upon the floor suggested that the morning room had previously been intended for the use of Lady Pole, but Childermass had no time to appreciate these comforts, for he was too busy dwelling upon the events of the night.

Certainly, Charles' presence had released Childermass from his immediate anxieties, but Childermass knew that it would soon enough be night once more and he and Mr Segundus again left alone. And while Childermass fancied that good fortune and force of will had prevented him from hurting Mr Segundus thus far, Childermass did not at all know how long his luck would hold.

Indeed, it turns out that Childermass and Mr Segundus were left alone sooner than Childermass had anticipated, for as soon as Charles had settled Mr Segundus into an armchair beside the fire, Charles then left the room to go see to Mr Honeyfoot's toilet.

Childermass, for himself, did not sit down; instead he walked over to the window and looked out at the garden and the dismal, grey sky. The ornamental trees and the little box hedges that the garden contained (some of them rather overgrown) appeared ever so insignificant against the wide blankness of that sky, almost as if one great gust of wind could blow them all away. Childermass chewed the inside of his lip and reassured himself that it would be mere moments before Mr Honeyfoot arrived with his cheer and comforting presence.

And yet, was it not so, that no matter how comforting Mr Honeyfoot's presence was during the day, there would always be the night to contend with? And then the next night, and the next, until Mr Segundus' soul was finally restored to him; and who knew when that might be?

"I believe it will rain again today," said Mr Segundus.

Childermass turned to find Mr Segundus looking to the window. How small Mr Segundus seemed in that large chair beside the fire; how vulnerable!

"I have been thinking," said Mr Segundus, his gaze now on Childermass rather than the garden, "about how I might structure my article. As you know, I have made some notes, but I fancy..."

"Article?" asked Childermass.

"Yes," replied Mr Segundus. "Forgive me; I mean my article about Vinculus and the King's book. As I say, I have made some notes but..."

And here Mr Segundus was contentedly going about his research into Vinculus, not at all caring about the return of his soul and his own safety!

"Do you not think," said Childermass rather sternly, "that your time would be better spent in helping myself and Mr Honeyfoot to bring about the return of your soul?"

Mr Segundus flinched a little at this and his face grew red as he looked down into the fireplace.

Childermass huffed. He considered that of course Mr Segundus did not think to prioritise his own safety, for Mr Segundus did not realise his safety was at stake; little indeed did he know of Childermass' struggles. Was it not time, then, that Mr Segundus was finally given some warning against trusting Childermass, so that Mr Segundus might be put on his guard? (Yet how unhappy a task: to sever any illusion of friendship or pleasant fraternity that Childermass might secretly have harboured.)

"I do not mean that I think your proposed article a bad idea, sir," said Childermass more gently. "Indeed, you must write it in the fullness of time, but today is not the day for it. Instead," continued he, "you must think of yourself foremost, and your wellbeing, which is dependent upon the return of your soul. I cannot keep it for long; it is in your best interests that I do not."

Mr Segundus' chest rose and fell (and it seemed that he perhaps felt himself chastised, for his face was still red). "I know," said he.

"No," said Childermass. "I am not sure that you do." He crossed his arms. "You would do well not to trust me, Mr Segundus. Good men, such as yourself, are few and far between in this world, and I am certainly not one of them."

Mr Segundus turned to him then, eyes bright. "Mr Childermass, you do yourself an..."

"Please listen to me, sir," said Childermass. "You honour me with a good opinion that is ill-deserved. Do you not remember all the times I have hurt you? I helped Mr Norrell to stop up every last piece of magic that you might study. We left you without companions and alone. And doubtless you remember when I came here to this very house to prevent you from opening your school."

"I do," said Mr Segundus, looking down at the rug. "I do. But I also remember you visiting here, only a few weeks ago, with Lady Pole's finger. I remember you bringing her salvation and...." He looked up. "... and with it bringing mine." Mr Segundus opened his mouth as if to say something further, but did not. He once more turned his attention to the rug. After a moment he sighed. "Forgive me," said he. "You are trying to spare my feelings; I know."

Childermass frowned.

"Of course you wish for my soul to be returned to me," said Mr Segundus. "Here I have forced it upon you: forced you into this house against your will." He sighed. "I understand well that this is an important time for you, Mr Childermass. Why, you have discovered the King's own words! Doubtless you wish to be abroad, studying Vinculus and gathering help for your cause." Mr Segundus sighed again. "It is good of you to word your request so delicately, but you must not worry; I know that you have far better places to be and I am not offended. Who indeed would choose to stay in this small company when they might instead have the ear of all England's magicians?"

Childermass straightened. "No," said he, not quite able to keep the surprise from his voice. "You are wrong, sir. I do not find your company small, and nor do I object to staying in this house; quite the opposite."

Mr Segundus looked to him.

"I am instead worried about your soul," continued Childermass. "A man such as myself should not have it. You have already seen evidence of how I..."

"Good morning," cried Mr Honeyfoot as he entered the room. "Good morning, both! How are you? Did you sleep well?" He turned to Mr Segundus. "You have recovered from yesterday's journey, I hope?"

"Oh," said Mr Segundus. His cheeks were pink as he turned from Childermass to Mr Honeyfoot. "Ah. Yes. I feel well-rested. And you, Mr Honeyfoot? How did you find the green bedroom?"

"Very comfortable," replied Mr Honeyfoot as he took a seat at the breakfast table. "Why, it is an old bed, that one, but good." He looked up and seemed to notice something in Mr Segundus' face. "But I am interrupting. Do not mind me; go on."

Mr Segundus glanced at Childermass before replying. "We were merely discussing our plans for the day. Mr Childermass would like us to concentrate on my soul, and I... I think that a good idea also."

"Oh, that is an excellent plan," agreed Mr Honeyfoot. "Here in the solitude of this house, I am sure we shall find an answer in no time!"

Alas, Mr Honeyfoot's optimism did not prove true. All three of them were good to their word and spent the whole day seeking a way to return Mr Segundus' soul to him, but with no success. Thus, before Childermass knew it, it was once more time to retire to bed.

This night Childermass did not assist Charles in helping Mr Segundus up the stairs, for he could not bear to be so close to Mr Segundus' frail person: to feel his thinness, and his weakness, and the warmth of his hand upon Childermass' arm. Indeed, Childermass did his best not to interact with Mr Segundus at all, for he fancied that ignoring Mr Segundus on the previous night had aided his strength of will and so had done much to keep Mr Segundus from being hurt.

As quickly as possible, therefore, Childermass readied himself for bed. He did not listen to Mr Segundus' and Charles' conversation as Mr Segundus was undressed, and neither did he do anything to help them. Instead Childermass climbed into his truckle bed, let out a brief "Good night" and closed his eyes before Charles had even left the room.

It was with a sense of desperation that Childermass urged himself to fall asleep immediately, so that the safety of morning might soon return. Sleep, however, was not forthcoming, especially not once Childermass heard Charles take his leave and close the door behind him.

There followed a brief rustling noise, which presumably heralded Mr Segundus' adjusting his blankets (though Childermass tried his hardest to pay no heed to Mr Segundus at all), but this was not followed by the sound of Mr Segundus settling down to sleep; instead there was silence.

Why Mr Segundus had paused, Childermass did not know. Perhaps he was reading, or thinking, or taking time to snuff his candle. Yet Childermass could not shake the unnerving thought that perhaps Mr Segundus was looking at the truckle bed and at Childermass within it.

The silence, as it drew on, grew heavier and heavier until it felt almost unbearable.

Do not look at me, thought Childermass bitterly. Do not! You must not draw my attention to you, for we will both regret it if you do.

But then, finally, there came some more rustling as the candle was snuffed and Mr Segundus presumably lay down to sleep.

Childermass tried not to notice the frantic beating of his heart within his chest. He reminded himself that he had survived the previous night by stillness and silence and he attempted to believe that it would work for this night also.

Thus the night passed (for Childermass' part, in little more than a fitful slumber) and morning arrived again with Charles' welcome presence. And indeed, more nights passed and more days.

Each night felt worse than the last, for Childermass knew that his control could only hold fast for so long. Countless were the times he considered, with dread, what might happen when the check upon his desires was finally broken. And countless were the means he invented to harm Mr Segundus. Yet, perhaps, most bountiful of all of Childermass' imaginings were those that vividly painted Mr Segundus' subsequent fear and unhappiness.

The days brought the relief of company, which made the bleakness of the nights more stark in contrast. Indeed, there were moments during the days, when magic was being discussed, or when ideas were put forward for Mr Segundus' upcoming school, that Childermass happened to forget that he was meant to be concerned, so taken was he with their conversations.

Mr Segundus, for all his meekness and amiability, had strong opinions on magic that he was not afraid to voice to their small group, and the three of them, he, Childermass and Mr Honeyfoot, had together some lively debates. Yet Mr Segundus was more than willing to concede ground when persuaded by proffered evidence. How refreshing a trait in a magician that was! It lent a depth in their conversations that was as rare as it was invigorating.

However, it was at times like these, when Childermass caught himself smiling at a look of enthusiasm in Mr Segundus' dark eyes, or thinking with anticipation of some scheme for the future of English magic, that Childermass was often reminded of the fragility of their current situation. For no matter how pleasant it was to spend time in Mr Segundus' house as a magician and an equal, to think only of magic and to savour Mr Segundus' honest company, this illusion of peace was liable to be shattered at any moment.

Childermass' ownership of Mr Segundus' soul removed any equality from their acquaintance. Why, whenever he wished it Childermass could command Mr Segundus in the worst way. How sobering it was for Childermass to remind himself that every moment in Mr Segundus' presence, no matter how enjoyable it might seem, was a moment in which Mr Segundus' person was put at risk.

It was urgent, therefore, now more so than ever, that a solution for the return of Mr Segundus' soul was found. There was no time to be distracted, especially not by grieving for a friendship that might have been, were circumstances different.

Thus determined to see the return of Mr Segundus' soul before all was too late, Childermass ensured that their time was filled with research to that purpose. Yet still the days continued to pass with no success, and while Childermass knew the cause to be as pressing as ever, he could tell that Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot were slowly losing interest. They began calling for Vinculus more often, and as Mr Segundus grew stronger, Mr Honeyfoot frequently urged him to leave his books aside and take exercise by walking in the garden.

Who was called upon to give his arm to Mr Segundus during these walks but Childermass? Though Childermass always took care that Mr Honeyfoot walked upon Mr Segundus' other side; for there was Mr Segundus' hand warm at Childermass' elbow, Mr Segundus' thin fingers steadying his uncertain steps, and there was Mr Segundus' soul even warmer beneath Childermass' shirt: a glow that felt even more pleasant and potent whenever Mr Segundus laughed. How very easy it would be, in a moment alone, to command Mr Segundus to shed his clothes and bare himself, to accept all that was given to him and to remain silent throughout.

Thank goodness for Mr Honeyfoot. Childermass clung to the knowledge of his presence and the comfort that it brought. Nothing untoward could happen during their walks, or during their meals, or during any part of the day when all three were together, because Mr Honeyfoot would be certain to protect his friend.

During the night, however, Mr Segundus was protected only by Childermass' strength of will and the slim chance that it might hold for a little longer. Why, each night held the possibility of being the night that finally heralded Mr Segundus' doom. And when it came, how cruel and how complete that doom would be. For Childermass was adept at getting what he wanted and was little used to concerning himself with the objections of others. Indeed, so subtle, so sneaking and so crafty could Childermass be that he fancied he could use Mr Segundus' body in his vile schemes for several days before either Mr Honeyfoot or Mr Segundus himself were any the wiser.

Oh, how Childermass dreaded the onset of each and every evening!

After a week or so had passed, with Childermass' concern and sleeplessness mounting both, and Mr Segundus' soul still no closer to being returned, Childermass had reached his wit's end. The probability of Mr Segundus being harmed grew greater with every passing day, and so did Childermass' distress at the thought of it. He could no longer bear it. He could hardly bear himself.

And so, not knowing what else to do, and barely caring that Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot were in the same room and might wonder what he did (though they were both of them at that moment engaged with Vinculus), Childermass reached into his coat pocket and took out his cards.

He laid out a spread on a little side table where he sat, and uppermost in his mind was the question that he had asked himself many times, with increasing desperation: Will I ever be freed from this torment?

Turning over the cards one-by-one, Childermass received his answer. It was quite clear, all told, though he did not know if he should feel relieved by it. For the cards said that Childermass _would_ be released from his current trials, but that this happy outcome would by no means be easy. Indeed, it would only be achieved if Childermass was willing to pursue it with all the strength and all the courage that he owned.

Childermass stared at the cards for a long time before he picked them up and returned them to his pocket. Upon the other side of the room Mr Segundus was pointing to some symbol or other upon Vinculus' back and talking quietly to Mr Honeyfoot. (Vinculus, meanwhile, was nursing a mug of beer.) Mr Honeyfoot then pointed to another part of Vinculus' back, which caused Mr Segundus to let out a laugh and quickly grab up a piece of paper to write something down.

Truly, strength and courage were but a small price to pay if they meant that Childermass could ensure Mr Segundus' safety. No matter how difficult, nor how strenuous and dangerous the task, Childermass was determined to do whatever it was that needed to be done. In fact, Childermass fancied he knew already what it was that the cards were asking of him, and he resolved, then and there, to see it accomplished.


	7. Chapter 7

Childermass left the room and headed to the library. Here, he knew, were several books about the history of Starecross Hall and its surroundings. In a cabinet against one wall he also found two or three local maps. These books and maps he gathered into his arms, and then he made his way back to the company he had left.

A quick glance at Mr Segundus reassured Childermass that he had not been absent for so long that Mr Segundus had felt it to his detriment. Indeed, it was not clear that Mr Segundus had noticed that Childermass had left the room at all, for Mr Segundus was at that moment leaning forward in his chair, with a frown of concentration on his face, as he copied down a passage from Vinculus' back.

And so Childermass spread his books and papers out on a table in the corner of the room and sat down to study them. He had all hope that his search would be fruitful; however, after an hour or so he found he was no closer to locating what he was after. His knowledge of this part of Yorkshire was not so great as his knowledge of other parts of the county, and he was beginning to feel it to his detriment.

Nevertheless, Childermass was determined. He read through the books some more and diligently followed every road on the maps. Yet still he met with no success. With a sigh, he sat back in his chair, wondering if there might be more books in the library that he had missed.

"Mr Childermass," came the voice of Mr Segundus from the other side of the room, "what is it that you look for in those maps?"

Childermass turned to find both Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot observing him (though Vinculus, their object of study, appeared to be fast asleep on his chair).

"Forgive me," continued Mr Segundus. "I don't mean to pry, but you do not sound as if you are having much luck, and I thought that perhaps we might be able to help."

For a moment Childermass considered keeping his silence. But, he supposed, Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot would have to find out eventually, and would not the process be hastened by making use of Mr Segundus' local knowledge?

Childermass folded his arms. "I am looking for a fairy road," said he. "Is there one near Starecross that you know of? Even one that has not been used for centuries? I cannot find any on these maps, but I fancy there must be one nearby; Yorkshire is riddled with them."

"Oh!" said Mr Honeyfoot, sitting up in his chair. "I am sure there must be!" He turned to Mr Segundus. "Did you not tell me, once, that you had your suspicions about that path along the east common? I have not seen it myself, but perhaps if we trace its line on the..."

"Why do you seek a fairy road?" asked Mr Segundus. He was frowning.

Childermass gave him a frank look. "Because, sir, it will be much more convenient for us all if I can find one nearby. That way you may remain here in Starecross Hall while I travel upon it."

"Good heavens!" said Mr Honeyfoot.

"No! You cannot!" cried Mr Segundus. He had started up from his chair and taken a few steps forward. "It is too dangerous! You..." He was breathing heavily. Mr Honeyfoot, looking rather alarmed, stood and took Mr Segundus' elbow and, after a moment, succeeded in persuading him to sit back down.

"Mr Childermass," continued Mr Segundus a little more calmly, though his cheeks were still red with the exertion of his previous haste, "you must forgive me. I understand the desire to learn more about Faerie (believe me, I do), but surely my recent experience in Faerie is a lesson in how much of a risk..."

"It is precisely because of your recent experience that I intend to go," said Childermass. He looked between them both. "How many days has it been, and yet still we are unable to return your soul to you, Mr Segundus? It seems to me that perhaps we have been looking in the wrong place. If your soul was lost in Faerie, then in Faerie it might be returned."

Mr Honeyfoot was frowning heavily. "But surely you cannot mean for Mr Segundus to return to Faerie, Mr Childermass? And with he still so ill!" He shook his head. "I will not allow that. With all the good will in the world, I will not."

Childermass gave him a wry smile. "Fear not, Mr Honeyfoot. I do not intend for Mr Segundus to return to Faerie. The only person I mean to venture there is myself."

"Oh but that will not do at all!" continued Mr Honeyfoot. "For you know that Mr Segundus' health depends upon your remaining close to him. How may you travel there without he?"

"That," said Childermass, "is precisely why I mean to find a fairy road near to the Hall. I will not then need to travel far, and if I do not remain in Faerie for long, then Mr Segundus will be none-the-worse for it. Indeed, if I succeed in returning Mr Segundus' soul while I am there (which I have great reason to believe that I will) then shortly it will not matter in the least how far away I am, nor for how long."

"No," said Mr Segundus.

Childermass looked over to see Mr Segundus sitting up straight in his chair, his jaw set in determination.

"Come, sir," said Childermass. "You must think of..."

"No," repeated Mr Segundus. "I am sorry, but I cannot give my approval to your scheme." He took a breath, and then looked down. "It is kind of you to think of taking such a risk for my sake, but I will not have you do such a thing." He shook his head. "Faerie is far too dangerous a..."

"I have been to Faerie before," said Childermass with a shrug, "and I suffered no harm from it. There is no reason to believe that this time will be any different."

"Oh but, Mr Childermass! You do not think!" This exclamation came from Mr Honeyfoot. "Certainly you may have fared well in Faerie before (and, by the bye, I should much like to hear the tale sometime). But at that time you had only your own life to risk. If any harm comes to you in Faerie now; what then? You carry Mr Segundus' soul, sir. If (God forbid) you perish, then so shall he."

Childermass' chest tightened. "You cannot be certain of that," said he. "Perhaps, if I were to perish, then the soul would return to Mr Segundus of its own accord."

"And is that truly a hypothesis you wish to test?" asked Mr Honeyfoot. "For I will not allow you to. The risk to Mr Segundus' life is just as great, whether he follows you into Faerie or no."

"Oh, that is not important at all!" interjected Mr Segundus, his cheeks flushed. "Why is it even necessary to wonder if I should perish or not? That is a mere consequence. If Mr Childermass enters Faerie then the danger is on his shoulders. It is his life we should be concerned for." He gave both Mr Honeyfoot and Childermass a beseeching look. "For what would English magic do without Mr Childermass? It would be a loss too great to bear. And if I were to be the occasion of it, I would not forgive myself. My soul is not worth anyone's life; especially not that of Mr Childermass."

Childermass stared at him for a long moment. Then Childermass collected his thoughts and said, "English magic would bear it. Far more easily than you kindly suggest. But if we are not to return your soul through means of Faerie, then what are we to do? Are you truly happy for me to retain your soul forever? You should not be."

"Surely..." started Mr Honeyfoot.

"No," said Childermass. "You do not seem to realise: I am not a good man. I have never been a good man. Even from my earliest days I..."

There came a loud bark of laughter. Childermass looked over to find Vinculus now awake and listening to all with a grin.

Ignoring him, Childermass continued. "Do you not remember all I did as Mr Norrell's man? Perhaps you do not know the half of it. For the York Society was not the only society I shut down, nor was yours the only school I hindered in its progress." He looked to Mr Segundus. "Do you not realise who it was that persuaded Mrs Lennox's bankers and lawyers to reject the project? Did you think Mr Norrell alone was capable of such scheming?"

Mr Segundus' cheeks had by now grown very red. "But you have told me, Mr Childermass, that you are quite happy for me to open my school now. And even back then you told me that you were sorry to have to close it down."

"Yet close it down I did," returned Childermass. "And that was not all. I bought up every single magical book in the country, so that others could not have them (so that you, sir, could not have them), and I felt not a little pride at a job well done. Indeed, I have been Mr Norrell's accomplice in every mean little scheme of his. The world knows it. Lady Pole even shot me for it."

"You did as your master asked of you," reasoned Mr Segundus, his face still red. He met Childermass' eye. "You could not have done otherwise. And even then you tried to help where you could. See what you did for Lady Pole, despite everything."

"I sent her to a madhouse," said Childermass.

"You sent her to me," corrected Mr Segundus. "For you knew it would help both her and I to do so."

Childermass' cheeks grew hot. "You assume that I did not have other motives? For I can tell you that I did."

"Motives to help English magic," said Mr Segundus earnestly. "Why, when you discovered her finger, you did not give it to Mr Norrell; instead you brought it here, and you urged me to do magic for the first time." He looked to the window for a moment, almost hesitating, then turned back. "How must I think you a bad man, Mr Childermass, when every time you have not been constrained by Mr Norrell's wishes you have done what you can for us all? Or am I wrong in thinking that you did not re-found the York Society of Magicians, or bring us John Uskglass' book?"

Childermass was at a loss. He knew that he ought to tell them, then and there, what he feared the most: what evil acts he was capable of committing upon Mr Segundus' body. But Mr Segundus' understanding had weakened Childermass' resolve. Could he truly expose good Mr Segundus to the knowledge of such a foul thing? (And would voicing it out loud not make it even more likely?)

Thus Childermass said the only thing he could say: "But I cannot keep your soul!"

"I know," said Mr Segundus gravely. "I understand. But I will not have you risk your life merely to free yourself from its burden."

Childermass huffed at that, but acquiesced. For what else was he to do? Mr Honeyfoot was correct: to risk Childermass' life in Faerie was to risk Mr Segundus' own. If Childermass perished, it was indeed possible that Mr Segundus would be left without his soul and would languish, pitifully, until he passed away.

No; Childermass could not bear the thought of causing Mr Segundus' demise. Yet what could be done, if the cards said that this was the only way to protect Mr Segundus from Childermass' dangerous presence? Was there truly, then, no hope at all?

Mr Honeyfoot must have seen some of the rising panic in Childermass' face, for he said, kindly, "We shall find some other way to return Mr Segundus' soul, Mr Childermass. Do not be concerned; I am sure we shall find some way."

And so Childermass picked up his books and his maps and returned them to the library. Mr Segundus and My Honeyfoot followed him, for the conversation had at least persuaded them that they ought to conduct more research into Mr Segundus' soul, rather than spend their time upon Vinculus (which Vinculus appeared to find a rather satisfactory outcome).

The rest of the day was spent upon their research in the library. Mr Segundus set to work with due solemnity, but Mr Honeyfoot encouraged them with words of optimism. Indeed, this encouragement from Mr Honeyfoot soon became so exuberant that it seemed as if he truly believed their imminent success to be a certainty. Childermass wished he could emulate Mr Honeyfoot's cheer, but he could not, for Childermass knew what the cards had told him.

Strength and courage were required to ensure Mr Segundus' safety. Without Childermass exercising these two traits, Mr Segundus' soul would not be returned to him. But what would require strength and courage if not a journey into Faerie? Childermass did not know of anything else the cards could have meant.

Thus the day continued to pass, and Childermass' fear continued to grow. He wondered what would happen if, as seemed now certain, Mr Segundus' soul could never be returned. It would seal Mr Segundus' doom without doubt. And how many times would Childermass make carnal use of Mr Segundus' body before Mr Segundus found some way to defend himself?

Childermass' anxiousness grew yet further as their research was halted for supper, and as he listened to Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot talk over the day's studies (which conversation Childermass could not bring himself to participate in to any great degree). Indeed, by the time they were making their way to Mr Segundus' room for bed, Childermass could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

Mr Segundus' soul could not be returned, which meant it a certainty that Mr Segundus would be harmed. Good lord, and if it were a certainty, then what was to stop Childermass from deciding to throw off all restraint that very night?

Childermass' hands were almost shaking as he undressed himself and climbed into his truckle bed. He could hear Charles and Mr Segundus go about their business, but he desperately tried to pay them no heed. Why, had not Mr Segundus been saved on previous nights by Childermass ignoring them in the same way? Had not silence and stillness been Childermass' friends?

Oh, but who was to say that this night was the same as previous nights, when Childermass knew that it was not? There was no more hope. Nothing could be done to save Mr Segundus now. And yet... and yet perhaps this was not the case. Mr Segundus' soul could not be returned to him, that was true, but perhaps there were other ways of foiling Childermass' evil designs. Starecross had been a madhouse, after all; surely there might be some restraints (chains or other devices) that could be used to keep Childermass in his truckle bed where he ought to be.

This thought calmed Childermass until he realised that he would be able to command Mr Segundus to undo any restraints with merely a word. Some kind of gagging device, then, to prevent Childermass from being heard, or... Oh, this would be much easier if Mr Honeyfoot could be persuaded to sleep in the same room with them. Or perhaps Charles. Surely Mr Segundus could be pressed-upon to allow Charles to sleep in with them.

Alas, it was too late to seek Charles' help, for he had left the room several minutes ago. All that was left was the sound of Mr Segundus settling himself in bed and the long, tortuous silence while Childermass waited for Mr Segundus to snuff his candle and lie down. Frantically, Childermass wondered if he ought to ask Mr Segundus to call for Charles to return then and there. Would that not be the only way to ensure Mr Segundus' safety tonight? But to ask such a thing would be to break Childermass' vow of silence, and if he could not remain silent then he could not refrain from anything else, and by the time Charles arrived it would already be too late.

"I am sorry, Mr Childermass," said Mr Segundus softly.

Childermass' heart leapt to his throat. He chastised himself for being so caught up in his thoughts that he had neglected to pretend to fall asleep. And now Mr Segundus knew him to be awake and appeared to expect a conversation.

"I am so sorry," continued Mr Segundus, "to keep you here at Starecross. I know how hard it is for you. I know you wish to be abroad about your business, rather than..."

"Oh, for the love of God," cried Childermass in exasperation. "Why must you be so selfless?" He sat up. "Can you not think of yourself for just once? Why must you always concern yourself with how I feel, instead of worrying about how much danger you are in?"

Mr Segundus was sitting in his bed, looking rather wide-eyed. "Mr Childermass," he stuttered. "I..."

Immediately Childermass felt the foolishness of his actions. When had he last seen Mr Segundus in his nightshirt like this? Not since they had first entered Starecross, surely. The warm light from the fire glinted in Mr Segundus' hair, and Mr Segundus' soul lay heavy and smooth against Childermass' breast. Childermass swallowed, suddenly overcome with fear. "Mr Segundus, you might do well to ring for Charles, sir."

"Ring for Charles?" Mr Segundus frowned. "I am sorry if I have upset you, Mr Childermass, but I..."

"Please," said Childermass, "sir. The bell. Even if you do not wish to ring it, you might just hold it close, so you have it when need be."

Mr Segundus frowned further. He looked to the bell that sat beside his candle, but did not pick it up. "You say I am in danger, Mr Childermass? From Faerie?"

Childermass' tongue felt large and thick in his mouth. "No, sir," said he. "Not from Faerie. From me. The bell, please."

Mr Segundus glanced once more to the bell, but folded his hands together on top of his blankets and looked over to Childermass. "I am in danger from you?" he asked. "I do not see how."

"That," said Childermass, "is because you are too selfless. A good man like yourself cannot imagine what thoughts go through a head like mine."

Mr Segundus breathed out. "This again?" said he. "I thought I had persuaded you, Mr Childermass, that you are not as ruthless as you believe yourself to..."

"But I own your soul, sir. I can force you to do things against your will. Do you not remember how I forced you to insult Mr Honeyfoot?"

Mr Segundus' cheeks flushed. "Yes, but that is in the past, and Mr Honeyfoot did not take it ill."

Childermass could not bear it. They were too close to the truth of the thing. He felt his hands shake. What would stop him now? "The bell, sir. Please. For your safety."

Yet Mr Segundus still did not move to take it. "Why?"

"And this is what I mean about you being too selfless," complained Childermass. "You cannot even comprehend that I would think of forcing you to do things." He grimaced. "Carnal things: using your body to slake my..." He could barely say it. "...my lust." And with his hands shaking even further, he said. "Please. The bell."

Mr Segundus' eyes looked even wider and his cheeks even darker than before. "Your lust?"

"Yes," said Childermass, almost recoiling from the word. "Now do you see? I do not wish to force myself upon you, but without Charles, who will be here to stop me?"

Mr Segundus was silent for a long moment. He looked down at his hands upon the blankets. "You are mistaken," said he, eventually. "You seem to think that if you were to have carnal knowledge of me, I would not wish it." He looked up. "But I have lusts of my own, Mr Childermass: I _would_ wish it. I would wish it very much."

Childermass stared at him. "You would not wish it if I were to force you."

Mr Segundus frowned. "But why would you use force if I was willing?" He frowned some more. "You mean that you would prefer to force me against my will?"

"No!" cried Childermass, the hair on his scalp rising. "No! Not ever would I wish something so terrible upon you. That is why you must ring for Charles before it is too late."

Mr Segundus looked at him for a long time. "I do not understand," said he. "Why do you think you would you force me if you do not want to?"

"Because I own your soul," said Childermass, his voice breaking upon the word. "Because I have the ability to do so and there is nothing to stop me."

"But, Mr Childermass," said Mr Segundus softly, "if you were truly going force me, don't you think you would have done so by now? You have had ample opportunity."

Childermass took a breath.

"How long now," said Mr Segundus, "have we shared this room together? And before that, in Mr Honeyfoot's house, you helped me to wash and to dress and to..." The flush on his face grew. "If you were ever going to force me, you would have done it long ago."

Childermass did not know what to think. He still felt himself capable of hurting Mr Segundus, still felt the fear of the thing, and yet Mr Segundus' words made a great deal of sense. Oh, how Childermass longed to believe they were true!

Mr Segundus' expression grew rather sad. "I am so sorry," said he. "You have been worrying about this and it is all my fault."

Childermass opened his mouth to retort, but there was no time, for Mr Segundus was speaking again.

"You accuse me of selflessness," said Mr Segundus, shaking his head. "Can it truly be, Mr Childermass, that you do not realise how very selfish I have been?"

Childermass frowned.

"I gave you my soul in that fairy market," continued Mr Segundus, "without stopping to consider what would be most convenient. In that instant I had time to think of one thing only, and that was that if anyone were going to own this part of me, I wanted it to be you." Mr Segundus passed a hand over his brow. "So, you see, it was selfish of me. For I did not think of what you would want, or what would help you most in your work. And even once my health began to strengthen, I did not use it to seek the return of my soul as much as I should have done." Here Mr Segundus looked down at the bedcovers. "I know you have urged Mr Honeyfoot and myself to the task, but it has never been as joyful to me as reading the King's writing upon Vinculus. And so, wherever I can, I have spent my time ignoring my soul and instead following the research I most want to pursue. I have known, of course, that sooner or later I must help you to return my soul, but every day I have found myself hoping, selfishly, that I might be able to keep you by my side for just one day more."

Childermass did not at all know what to say to such an astounding thing. He was not sure he truly believed it, that good Mr Segundus would ever, voluntarily, seek his presence.

"I knew, even at the outset," said Mr Segundus sadly, "that I would be an inconvenience to you, but I did not ever realise that the ownership of my soul would cause you so much anguish or that it would cause you to doubt yourself, and for that I am very sorry." His chest rose and fell. "Tomorrow you shall have my devoted aid in seeking to end this thing, and then you may be free from me and from this place. You must feel stifled."

Yet more astounding! It took several moments before Childermass was able to speak. "I am not stifled," said he. "I do not wish to be free from you, or from this place. Indeed, I have told you that before, but you do not seem to believe me."

Mr Segundus' face reddened once more (the flush now reaching to the very tip of his nose).

"I have never," said Childermass, "in all this time, been bored, or dissatisfied, or wished to throw you aside so I might leave. (Your company, to me, is very enjoyable, sir.) My only thought has been to return your soul, so that I may no longer hold power over you, and so there is no further chance that I might hurt you."

"Then," said Mr Segundus, his face beginning upon a smile of a tentative sort, "does this not mean that we no longer have a problem? For you now know that you will not hurt me; and if you enjoy it here at Starecross, then perhaps things might continue on as they are?"

"But I cannot keep your soul," said Childermass, with more desperation than he had intended. "I cannot keep it."

Mr Segundus' shoulders sagged, and Childermass felt a surge of guilt.

"I do not mean," said Childermass, in a manner he hoped was conciliatory, "that I do not want your company, or that I do not want to stay here at Starecross. But I shall be much happier without your soul."

"I had thought," said Mr Segundus, looking rather chastised, "that you might like... Or perhaps it was only I who wanted it. But I thought, or rather I had hoped, that you might like to have a piece of me."

"Not your soul," stated Childermass. "I would never wish to own anything so great or so important. And I do not mean that I do not enjoy holding it, and wearing it, and feeling you with me... I... It is so very warm, sometimes." He pressed his lips together. "But I do not share the trust in my actions that you seem to hold, and I know I will not rest easily until I am no longer able to control you." Childermass sighed. "You must understand, Mr Segundus: I have never wanted such power over you. Indeed, in all this time I have wanted only your esteem, and your kindness, and..." He swallowed, his throat raw. "...and (if I were ever to deserve it) a place in your heart."

"My heart..." Mr Segundus' face, which was still very red, wore a wondering sort-of look. "Mr Childermass..." he started, his voice almost failing him. Then he turned and glanced abstractedly at the bed-covers, at the bed-posts, at the wall. "I suppose," said he quietly, "that it might work."

Childermass frowned, but before he could ask what Mr Segundus meant, Mr Segundus had closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath and Childermass had felt, suddenly, the disorientating, upside-down feeling that suggested some magic was taking place. The locket beneath Childermass' shirt burned bright and sharp for the briefest of moments. Childermass flinched with a gasp.

And, upon the bed, Mr Segundus doubled-over coughing.

"Mr Segundus?" called Childermass. "Sir!" He leapt out of his truckle bed and ran over to him, half-climbing onto the bed so that he might rest a steadying hand on Mr Segundus' shoulder. "Are you well, sir? What is wrong?"

Mr Segundus took a long, ragged breath and made an abortive gesture with a hand before he was wracked by a further fit of coughs, wheezing with the intensity of it. However, this coughing did not last too long before Mr Segundus was thankfully calming, taking a series of deep breaths, his head hanging between his shoulders.

"Are you well?" repeated Childermass, still steadying Mr Segundus' arm as Mr Segundus finally began to raise himself. "May I get you a glass of...?" But Childermass could not finish the question because Mr Segundus was kissing him.


	8. Chapter 8

The kiss was a trembling, fervent thing. Mr Segundus had taken Childermass' head in his hands and was kissing him as urgently as if he feared Childermass would disappear upon an instant. To Childermass, this was an action so unexpected and so surprising that he did not know what to do. At first he was rigid with shock, and then, without thinking what he did, he began to return the kiss (for Mr Segundus' lips were so very soft), but after only a moment of this Childermass suddenly remembered what he was about and how dangerous his proximity was for Mr Segundus' wellbeing.

Yet before Childermass' fear could take hold fully, Mr Segundus had pulled back from the kiss and, still cupping Childermass' cheeks in his hands, had looked at Childermass with the softest, gentlest of smiles.

Childermass' heart was beating very fast. "You have done some magic," said he.

"Yes," agreed Mr Segundus, still smiling. How dark his eyes appeared from this short distance!

"Will you tell me what it was?" asked Childermass.

Mr Segundus' smile widened. His hands fell from Childermass' face. "You have not realised?" said he, with a look that was almost coy. "We had already discovered, Mr Childermass, that we had not any magic powerful enough for you to give me my soul, for it was a transaction too unequal in nature. But, on the other hand, if we were to find some way of making it equal: of my giving you something in return..."

Childermass took a deep breath. "You..."

Mr Segundus nodded. "I have given you my heart, Mr Childermass, in exchange for my soul, which has been returned to me."

Childermass stared at him.

Mr Segundus laughed happily. "And, before you accuse me of once again giving away something too great, you must realise, sir, that this magic has only confirmed what was already the case." Red-cheeked, he met Childermass' eye. "For my heart has been yours for a good while now."

Poor Childermass did not at all know what to do with such information. He fancied he saw Mr Segundus smiling some more, but Childermass could not quite take it in. "I..." said he. "I no longer own your soul?"

Is it possible to feel relief as a physical thing? For it certainly seemed that way: Childermass' limbs, and his fingers and toes, and every inch of his skin felt as if it was singing, as if he was full of bubbles, ready to burst.

Mr Segundus nodded. He took one of Childermass' hands in his own and smiled down at it. "You no longer own my soul."

Childermass watched as his hand was pressed gently between Mr Segundus' palms. "Because you have given me your heart instead," said Childermass breathlessly.

Mr Segundus nodded again, and pressed Childermass' hand more firmly. "Do you have it?" asked Mr Segundus. "Is it on your person?"

For the first time since they had kissed, Childermass thought of the locket. It lay warmly beneath his shirt, as it always had. Thus, extracting his hand from Mr Segundus', Childermass pulled up the locket, lifted the chain from over his head and held the thing out to look at it.

There in Childermass' palm the locket sat, as golden and shining as ever. Frowning, Childermass opened it to see what was inside. And there, he found, was the difference. For inside, instead of a tightly-curled lock of hair, there sat a small, perfectly-formed ivy leaf.

Childermass laughed out loud. He could not help himself. "This," said he incredulously, "is your heart?" And he laughed some more, for he was so full of sudden joy that it had to be let out somehow. Childermass no longer owned Mr Segundus' soul! Those fraught days were over! Instead Childermass owned Mr Segundus' heart: something so precious and so beloved, and yet given to Childermass freely!

And to increase Childermass' merriment further Mr Segundus' heart had taken the form of one of the most absurdly magical symbols Childermass knew. Of course Mr Segundus' heart was an ivy leaf. Of course it was. How could it be anything else?

Mr Segundus huffed. "I have never claimed to be an original man," said he.

Childermass laughed harder. He shook his head. "You," said Childermass, "are one of the most original men I have ever met." And he leaned across to kiss Mr Segundus again.

Mr Segundus seemed rather to like this, for he sighed and returned the kiss, and sought out Childermass' hand with his own so that he could curl Childermass' fingers around the locket all the more tightly.

Yet as pleasant as it was to kiss and be kissed, Childermass felt then a sudden tug of doubt. Was all truly as well as he thought? He pulled back from the kiss, frowning. "Now that I own your heart rather than your soul," said he, "does that mean that I may no longer control your actions? Or might there still be a risk of it?"

Mr Segundus looked down between them, thoughtful. "I do not know," he replied after a moment. "I had hoped not, for that was why I made the exchange." He took a breath and looked up. "But perhaps we should perform a test to make certain."

Childermass' chest tightened. "A test?"

"Yes." Mr Segundus nodded, beginning upon a hopeful smile. "Yes. It shall be simple to do. You must attempt to command me, and we may see if it is successful or no."

Childermass stared, his fears crowding back in upon him. Had he not, just moments ago, been on the cusp of harming Mr Segundus for certain? How ever might he attempt to control Mr Segundus, here, now, with they both sat upon Mr Segundus' bed and with the warmth of Mr Segundus' lips still lingering upon his own?

"No," said Childermass, breathless through the beating of his heart. "I will not command you."

Mr Segundus frowned. He shifted so as to reach across and brush Childermass' hand, but Childermass pulled his arm away. Mr Segundus frowned yet further.

"Oh Mr Childermass," said he, giving Childermass a sorrowful look. "Surely you must know by now that you will not hurt me. Had I not said that you would have hurt me long ago if you had truly meant to?"

"Yet I cannot risk it," retorted Childermass, standing up from the bed and retreating a few paces.

"But how will we ever know if you are able to control me or not if we cannot perform a test?" asked Mr Segundus. "If, as I suspect, you can no longer control me, then there will be no risk at all! Do you wish to remain in ignorance of that?"

"I understand the logic of it," admitted Childermass unhappily. With a huff he sat down in a chair beside the window and hung his head. "Yet still I..." The locket glinted out from between his fingers. He curled his hand around it more tightly.

Mr Segundus sighed. "Then, why don't we ask Mr Honeyfoot to come and observe our test? Might that allay your fears? I am certain Mr Honeyfoot will not complain at being woken once he hears the news of the exchange we have performed."

"And you are willing to tell him," said Childermass, looking up, "that you have given me your _heart_?"

"Ah." Mr Segundus pursed his lips and appeared to be thinking. "No. That is not... Mr Honeyfoot is a good man, but..." Mr Segundus raised his head. "I shall tell him instead that I have given you my love of magic. That is what he will think when he sees the ivy leaf, will he not?" Here Mr Segundus gave a small smile. "And perhaps the two things are not so very different after all. For does not my heart hold my love of magic, as well as my love of a very particular magician?" And Mr Segundus gave Childermass a look so frank that it would have urged Childermass to run over and kiss him again if Childermass had not been so scared of hurting him.

"Very well," conceded Childermass reluctantly. "I will perform the test. But only if I may take instruction from Mr Honeyfoot. He will tell me how to command you. I shall not dare command you otherwise."

Mr Segundus smiled in response. (Childermass wondered, hazily, if he would ever grow used to receiving such a thing.) "Will you please then go and rouse him?" asked Mr Segundus. "If it is not too much trouble, that is. I would ring the bell, but I do not think it fair to wake Charles as well."

Thus Childermass, slipping the locket back over his head, left the bed-chamber and made his way to Mr Honeyfoot's room, where he knocked upon the door. For a long moment this knock was met with silence, but eventually the door opened to reveal a rather bleary-eyed Mr Honeyfoot standing behind it. Yet when Childermass informed Mr Honeyfoot that Mr Segundus' soul had been returned, Mr Honeyfoot grew as joyous and exuberant as Mr Segundus had predicted he would be.

"Oh, this is wonderful news!" exclaimed Mr Honeyfoot as he and Childermass made their way to Mr Segundus' bed-chamber, with Mr Honeyfoot nearly running along in his excitement. "Mr Segundus has exchanged his soul for his love of magic? What a superb solution! Why, Mr Segundus values his love of magic so highly, the dear man. Of course he does! I wouldn't expect anything less! Why hadn't we ever thought of this before?"

By this point they had both entered Mr Segundus' room, and Mr Honeyfoot immediately ran over to the bed to shake Mr Segundus' hand. "My dear friend!" said Mr Honeyfoot sitting upon the mattress. "How very clever you have been! What perfect magic! It is so good to see you with your soul returned! Though it is a sore thing to lose your love of magic; oh, but I am certain Mr Childermass will look after it well, will you not, Mr Childermass?"

"I shall guard it with all my strength," returned Childermass, giving Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot a bow. "It deserves no less; indeed, it deserves more than I could ever truly give."

Mr Segundus appeared to consider this declaration of some moment, if his wide eyes were anything to go by. He cleared his throat, and with red cheeks said, "You need not fear, Mr Honeyfoot. I have every faith that in Mr Childermass it has found the safest and truest of homes."

Mr Honeyfoot nodded and said, somewhat conspiratorially (though he made no attempt lower his voice in the slightest), "Mr Childermass is a good man, is he not? We have certainly had enough examples of it, for all that he tries to protest to the contrary." He turned and gave Childermass a great, wide smile.

Childermass, however, did not smile in return, for he was too taken with the look upon Mr Segundus' face.

"May I see it?" asked Mr Honeyfoot, standing so that he might draw closer to Childermass.

It took a moment or two for Childermass to recognise the question, but once he had he removed the locket from about his neck and opened it, holding it out for Mr Honeyfoot to see.

"Oh, an ivy leaf!" said Mr Honeyfoot, peering inside. "Of course! How perfect it looks!"

Mr Segundus cleared his throat. "The reason, Mr Honeyfoot, that we have disturbed you from your bed is not only to share the news but to ask for your help in performing a test. Perhaps Mr Childermass has mentioned this to you already?"

"No. He has not." Mr Honeyfoot looked up from the locket. "How may I be of service?"

"We should like to have confirmation," continued Mr Segundus, "that Mr Childermass can no longer control my actions, now that he does not own my soul."

"I am loathe to perform this test by myself, Mr Honeyfoot," interjected Childermass, "for you well know the trouble I caused to you both when I last attempted to command Mr Segundus." He bowed again. "In truth, I wish to be directed, sir. If you can supply the commands that I must give to Mr Segundus, then there shall be no chance that I will harm him further."

"Oh, that is very noble of you!" said Mr Honeyfoot. "Very noble! And certainly I am willing to help. Do you mean to perform the test now? For, to tell the truth, I am all eagerness to see the results of the exchange." He turned to the bed. "Would you be ready to begin immediately, Mr Segundus?"

Mr Segundus nodded. "I am ready, thank you."

"And you must try your hardest to avoid doing what Mr Childermass says, you know," said Mr Honeyfoot.

Mr Segundus nodded again. "I quite understand."

As this exchange was taking place, Childermass clasped the locket within his hand and tried to slow the clamorous beating of his heart. He wished he was as composed as Mr Segundus looked to be, for Mr Segundus was sitting calmly on the bed with his hands folded upon the bedcovers. Childermass closed his eyes and took a shaky breath.

"Now then, Mr Childermass," came the voice of Mr Honeyfoot. "Ask him to stand up, if you please."

Childermass swallowed and opened his eyes. He looked from Mr Honeyfoot to Mr Segundus and forced himself to speak, though his mouth was dry. "Mr Segundus, I command you to stand."

Mr Segundus, however, remained sitting where he was. He turned and looked at Childermass.

"Oh!" exclaimed Mr Honeyfoot. "Now ask him to sing!"

"Mr Segundus," said Childermass. The hand holding the locket was trembling. "I command you to sing."

Yet Mr Segundus remained silent. His mouth had begun upon a smile.

"Ask him to jump up and down!" cried Mr Honeyfoot (nearly doing so himself). "Ask him to dance a minuet! Ask him to shout 'Hooray!' for he has done a wonderful piece of magic!"

Was it possible for any heart to beat as fast as Childermass' was at that moment? "Mr Segundus," said he, "I command you to jump up and down."

And Mr Segundus remained sitting in the bed, though he was now wearing a great wide grin.

The relief that had been building, cautiously, within Childermass' limbs now broke upon him in such a forceful wave that he was compelled to stumble into the nearest chair. His hands were shaking. He felt as if he might swoon, or fly up into the air, or dissolve into a million tiny pieces.

But Childermass did none of these things. Instead he sat and watched, dazedly, as Mr Honeyfoot shook Mr Segundus' hand a great number of times then paced back and forth across the room, prattling happily about their success.

"Now then," Mr Honeyfoot was saying, "it seems to me that there is but one more test to make, and then we shall know the full effects of the return of your soul, Mr Segundus!"

"Oh?" was Mr Segundus' reply. "What test is that?"

"Why, do you not see?" exclaimed Mr Honeyfoot. "We must discover if you can now suffer to be apart from Mr Childermass without it affecting your health."

Here, Mr Segundus looked to Childermass. Childermass looked back in return.

"And is this not the perfect opportunity?" continued Mr Honeyfoot. "For the night has only just started." He now walked over to the chair where Childermass sat and raised him by the elbow. "Mr Childermass, I am glad to say that you may finally sleep in a real bed, for tonight you may have mine. No, do not protest. I will be quite happy here on the truckle bed, and you may rest easily. Why, I will watch Mr Segundus like a hawk! He need show only the merest hint of flagging spirits, the slightest roughness of breath, or even the smallest sneeze and I shall call you at once to ask you to return." While saying this, Mr Honeyfoot had led Childermass across the room and over to the door.

Mr Segundus had not relinquished Childermass' gaze; indeed, he looked as surprised at this new turn of events as Childermass felt. But once Mr Honeyfoot had finished talking, Mr Segundus put a smile upon his face. "Thank you, Mr Honeyfoot, for thinking of such a thing," said he. "You are right that we should test this now, so we will know where we stand." Mr Segundus looked back to Childermass and took a breath. "I wish you a good night, Mr Childermass."

"Aye," replied Childermass, still too dazed to even think of giving a bow. "Good night to you both, then." With that, he stepped through the door and left, alone, to make his way to Mr Honeyfoot's room.

How odd to think that this was the first time in weeks that Childermass had left Mr Segundus' presence with no intention of immediately returning! He felt an odd hollowness inside himself at the thought, as if he had experienced so many emotions that evening that he had none at all left.

Before Childermass was truly aware of what he was doing, he found he was already in Mr Honeyfoot's bed-chamber and had put out his candle and climbed into the bed.

Mr Segundus was safe. He could no longer be controlled by Childermass and, if this last experiment proved successful, he would no longer be threatened by Childermass' constant presence either. It was something that Childermass had begun to believe would never happen.

What was more, and even harder to believe, was that Mr Segundus had given Childermass his heart. His _heart_.

"This magic has only confirmed what was already the case," Mr Segundus had said (had he truly?) "for my heart has been yours for a good while now."

Childermass pulled the locket out from beneath his shirt. It glinted gold in the low light from the fire.

And there, inside the locket, sat the smallest, most-perfect ivy leaf.

Childermass took a long, slow breath.

The next morning announced itself with sunlight through the curtains and birdsong. Childermass had thought that he would not sleep much after the excitements of the night and his fear for a relapse in Mr Segundus' health, but it seems that the relief he found in no longer owning Mr Segundus' soul had acted as a potent soporific; not once had Childermass woken in the night, and the morning now appeared to be far advanced.

In Childermass' lightly-curled fist the locket still sat, now only half-open. Childermass closed it gently and slipped it back beneath his shirt, where it lay warm against his breastbone. His next task was to rise and complete his toilet, which was made particularly easy, for it seemed that while he had been asleep one of the servants had carried in his valise along with a jug of water. Indeed, it seemed as if they had done the same for Mr Honeyfoot, for Mr Honeyfoot's coat and breeches, which had sat upon a chair beside the fireplace the night before, were now no longer to be seen.

Once dressed, Childermass made his way down to the breakfast room. Here he found Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot sitting at the table, upon which were laid the remains of a breakfast already eaten and a cheery vase of roses.

"Mr Childermass!" said Mr Honeyfoot when he saw Childermass enter. "How late you have slept! You must have found a real bed much to your liking after so long. Come, sit. I will ring for the maid." And in saying so, he picked up the bell and rang it.

Childermass bowed to them both. "How do you fare, Mr Segundus? You are well?"

"I am very well, thank you," replied Mr Segundus. He gave Childermass a wide smile. "And how are you? Are you well also?"

"Very," replied Childermass. How good it was to see Mr Segundus sitting and smiling so! If Mr Honeyfoot were not there, Childermass would have kissed him immediately. As it was, Childermass sat down at the table and helped himself to what was left of the breakfast.

"The night was as uneventful as we could have hoped for," continued Mr Honeyfoot. "Indeed, it was so successful that we thought to try another test this morning. What do you think?" He gestured at the roses upon the table.

Childermass, who had his mouth full, raised his eyebrows.

"We had thought," explained Mr Segundus, "that because you own my... my love of magic, that there was a chance I might not be able to perform any magic without you present."

"Thankfully," said Mr Honeyfoot, "our assumption was a wrong one. Why, we brought in some dry twigs from the garden and Mr Segundus has turned every one of them into a rose!" He laughed. "Well, the red ones at any rate." Mr Honeyfoot gave Childermass a grin. "The pink one was my own."

"And a very pretty pink it is too," said Mr Segundus.

Thus they continued to talk of magic and of roses until Childermass had eaten and drunk his fill.

"Now, sir," said Mr Honeyfoot when Childermass had put down his knife and fork. "What say you? We were thinking that today we might look at Vinculus' feet. That is, if we can discover where he went off to after breakfast..."

"You may do with Vinculus as you like," replied Childermass, pushing back his chair, "but for myself, I have other plans." He stood and looked to them both. "We have seen that Mr Segundus is well when we are apart, but only at a short distance. Today I mean to leave Starecross Hall, to test if there is a limit as to how far apart we may be. (For it will be best, I think, to know fully how things stand.)"

Both Mr Honeyfoot and Mr Segundus seemed rather surprised to hear such a suggestion, if the looks upon their faces were anything to go by.

"Fear not," said Childermass, shaking his head. "I shall not go far yet, and you must send a message to me at the slightest hint that Mr Segundus is growing ill again." He glanced at the window. "I mean to head out to the east common. You said, Mr Honeyfoot, that it is fancied there is a fairy road there?"

Mr Segundus' eyes widened. He opened his mouth to speak.

"I do not mean to travel upon it," said Childermass to him gently. "There is no longer any need. But if I must occupy my time within the bounds of the village, then it seems an interesting place to study."

Mr Segundus' cheeks had turned pink. "Oh," said he. "Of course. It is very good of you, Mr Childermass, to agree to spend the day out of doors for my sake." He glanced at the bell upon the table. "We should ask for some refreshments to be made up for you, lest you get hungry or thirsty while away."

Childermass graced him with a fond smile. "I shall need nothing, thank you; I have just breakfasted. And spending the day out of doors is hardly an inconvenience. I am used to it." He bowed to them both. "I bid you good day. If you have need of me, rest assured that I shall not stray far from the east common."

Thus Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot made their goodbyes and Childermass left.

The day was cloudy but not cold. As he had said he would, Childermass made his way over to the east common. It was strange, once again, to spend so much time away from Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot. Childermass fancied that he should have enjoyed this freedom, but while the chance to leave Starecross and to walk at a brisk pace were refreshing (for keeping pace with Mr Segundus' faltering steps in the garden was a very different matter), Childermass did not find the separation as pleasant as he ought.

Why, when Childermass reached the east common and found the potential fairy road that Mr Honeyfoot had mentioned, there were many observations that Childermass wished to voice but, frustratingly, there was no-one around to hear them. What an odd thing it was to feel frustrated so! Merely a few weeks ago Childermass would hardly have been troubled by keeping his thoughts to himself, but it seems that in the meantime he had grown used to discussing magic with others: to putting forward his ideas and receiving immediately an interesting response.

How many times, that morning, did Childermass note an unusual plant, a curious bird-call, or that the light fell upon the path in a certain way; how many times did Childermass see these things and think, "I wonder what Mr Segundus would make of this?"

Well, there was nothing to be done. Childermass had been tramping up and down the east common for a good while by this point, but no-one had come running from Starecross to bring him back, and that was surely a good sign.

And so, not caring to stay on his feet any longer, Childermass sat himself beside a gorse bush and retrieved from his pocket a pencil and his memorandum book. He opened the book to a new page and began to plot out a course of action.

It seemed to Childermass that if he were going to show Vinculus to another magical society, now was the time to do it. (For had Childermass not, from the very beginning, wished to show Vinculus to as many magical societies as there were in England?) A day in the east common would not be enough to prove that all ties between Childermass and Mr Segundus were broken. Childermass would have to travel farther from Starecross, surely, and what better use of his time than to show Vinculus elsewhere?

In his memorandum book Childermass planned out a route from Starecross to Darlington and from Darlington to Newcastle. He fancied that two magical societies should be enough for now. And each route contained many stops, so that at any moment Childermass might be reached by letter should Mr Segundus' health fail.

Once Childermass was done, he sat and stared at his plan, feeling both restless and uncomfortable.

I shall return to Starecross, Childermass promised himself. I shall return as soon as Vinculus has been shown in Newcastle. I shall.

Then, without meaning to, Childermass sought out the golden locket from beneath his clothes and opened it. Such a precious thing it was, and given so freely! In truth, all Childermass wanted to do was rush back to Starecross and engage Mr Segundus in a long conversation, alone. And if such a conversation was to include Mr Segundus gracing Childermass with another dark-eyed smile, or maybe laughing, or blushing, or seeking to give Childermass a kiss, then so much the better.

Childermass sighed. Such pleasures could wait until they were certain that the last vestiges of his control over Mr Segundus (to wit: Mr Segundus ailing through Childermass' absence) had been removed; for that was the important thing. Only once this was done would Childermass allow himself to return.

Resolute, Childermass slipped the locket back beneath his shirt and continued on with the plan in his memorandum book until it contained the return route from Newcastle to Darlington to Starecross.

When the sun had long passed overhead, Childermass retraced his steps to Starecross Hall. He found Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot walking about the garden, arm in arm.

"Oh! Mr Childermass," cried Mr Segundus when he saw Childermass' approach. Mr Segundus then appeared to attempt a bow in his enthusiasm, though this seemed chiefly to result in him losing his balance and stumbling against Mr Honeyfoot's shoulder.

"Good day, gentlemen," said Childermass, bowing himself. "How do you do, Mr Segundus? Are you well? You have not felt worse at all?"

"I feel fine," returned Mr Segundus, smiling. "I have passed the test very well; I can suffer your absence with no ill effects."

"That is good," agreed Childermass, "but our test is not complete yet." He then told Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot of his intention to travel to Newcastle.

Mr Honeyfoot thought it an excellent idea, and said as much. He engaged in an animated imagining of how the magical societies of Darlington and Newcastle would react to the presence of the King's book.

Meanwhile Mr Segundus, who agreed that it was a good idea, and who joined in politely with Mr Honeyfoot's comments, showed encouragement of a much more tempered sort.

This did not aid Childermass in his resolve to go.

And yet go Childermass knew he must. Therefore, during the ensuing dinner, he laid out his exact itinerary, stressing several times that once all was accomplished at Newcastle he meant to return to Starecross.

Vinculus snorted a great deal while he heard Childermass talk, but he made no objection to Childermass' plans and, indeed, seemed far more interested in eating his beef and potatoes than in discovering where Childermass intended to show him and to whom. Once dinner was completed, Childermass asked Vinculus to ready himself to leave immediately, and Vinculus complied without complaint.

When all was ready, and Childermass had brought his horse to the courtyard in front of the house, there to be met by Vinculus, Childermass found Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot also there waiting for him. Mr Segundus was holding onto Mr Honeyfoot's elbow and looked hunched and small in the light of the setting sun.

"I hope your journey goes smoothly," said Mr Segundus to Childermass and Vinculus. "And I hope the magical societies of Darlington and Newcastle receive you well." He gave a faint smile. "Indeed, I intend to do everything I can to help upon that score, for I mean to finish my article upon the King's book and send it off to 'The Times' as soon as possible."

"Oh, I can just imagine their excitement once they realise they will come face-to-face with the King's book!" said Mr Honeyfoot. "I wish I could be there to see it."

"You must write to me," said Childermass to them both. "If there is even the slightest decline in your health, Mr Segundus, you must write to me and tell me, and I shall return with all speed. You have my itinerary."

"I shall write to you daily, regardless," said Mr Segundus, flushing, "and that way you shall have no cause for concern, for I shall tell you all." He shrank a little, and glanced briefly at Mr Honeyfoot. "In truth, we shall miss you. We have grown used to the gift of your company, Mr Childermass; and yours, Vinculus." He sighed. "But I know you shall be busy upon the road; I will not expect a reply to my letters, Mr Childermass, so you need not fret about finding the time to write."

Childermass met his eye. "I shall reply to every one of them," said he. "Do not think me so busy that I shall forget a friend."

Mr Segundus smiled at that, and such a bright smile it was! Childermass could not help but smile in return.

"We shall return ere long," said Childermass. "And we shall return sooner than that if need be." He bowed and mounted his horse.

"Thank you to you both," called Mr Segundus as Childermass turned his horse and headed out onto the lane, with Vinculus on foot beside him. "Thank you for all you have done for me."

"A safe journey!" called Mr Honeyfoot. "Farewell!"

Childermass doffed his hat, and Vinculus merely shrugged his shoulders.

For a while Childermass and Vinculus walked on in silence, crossing over the packhorse bridge and following the road beyond. The light of the setting sun lay golden on the moors about them.

Eventually, Vinculus spoke: "I knew you would grow bored of playing nurse in the end."

Childermass looked down at him, but Vinculus' eyes were on the road ahead.

"I am not bored," said Childermass. "I am no longer needed. Besides, I mean to return once our visit to Newcastle is complete."

Vinculus turned then, and gave him a long look. Only after many moments of this scrutiny did Vinculus speak. "I should like Mr Segundus' housekeeper to make us one of her pasties for our return," he declared. "She never makes them enough. You should write to Mr Segundus about it in one of those letters you've promised him."

Childermass snorted a laugh. "Very well," said he. "I will."

Thus their journey north began. They did not travel far each day, stopping at almost every inn they came across, so that the letters from Starecross might reach them. And reach them the letters did, for Mr Segundus kept his word and wrote to Childermass every day.

When opening the first few letters, Childermass' heart beat very fast as he broke the seals and scanned the contents, but the news of Mr Segundus' health was always the same: he was making good progress, continually growing stronger and not ailing in the slightest. Very quickly, therefore, the correspondence began to bring joy rather than anxiety.

This was not, of course, the first time that Childermass and Mr Segundus had exchanged letters, for they had of necessity exchanged notes when Childermass had set up Mr Segundus as the keeper of Lady Pole. The tone, however, of Mr Segundus' letters was no longer what it once was.

Why, before Mr Segundus had addressed his letters with a perfunctory "Sir" and had ended them politely with "Your humble servant", yet now Childermass received letters that were addressed to "Dear Mr Childermass" and were signed "Your most obliging friend."

Mr Segundus' letters were full of the little news that he and Mr Honeyfoot had: Mr Segundus' increasing health; the comings and goings of the house and the village; and the latest discussions that he and Mr Honeyfoot had had upon magical matters, particularly upon Vinculus and the King's letters. It was, surprisingly, a chatty style of language: both familiar and humorous, and somehow more forthright than Mr Segundus ever was in person.

"I today enclose my article for 'The Times,'" wrote Mr Segundus, not very long after Childermass and Vinculus had first set out from Starecross, "if you would be so good as to look over it for errors. If you find it well, I shall send it off forthwith, for I am eager to hear what the world makes of your discovery. Besides, I imagine that the honourable Dr Foxcastle of the York Society has earned many dinners upon his account of the events, and I should like an alternate account to become commonly known, in case his his bias against anyone but himself should do you disservice."

The article in question was as engaging and forthright as the letters. Childermass returned it with only two corrections.

Another letter spoke of the reaction of the York Society to the said article: "It has now been a full month, Mr Childermass, since you first showed Vinculus to us, and another meeting of the York Society has just taken place. Mr Honeyfoot pronounced me not yet well enough to return to York for the occasion, but was kind enough to remain at Starecross with me. He has today received an account of the meeting from one of his friends. From what I gather, they did nothing all evening save talk about you! Of course, they cannot agree if you have truly brought them the book of the Raven King or not.

"Dr Foxcastle, it seems, does not wish to be upon your side, yet he does not go quite so far as one gentleman, who has alleged that you have painted the words upon Vinculus yourself! (Though how Vinculus would ever sit still enough for that, I do not know.) Yet I hear that some have cried up my account (though they do not know it is mine, for I had asked to remain anonymous) as an accurate version of events; or at least more accurate than some.

"I cannot help but wonder if they will ever stop arguing over the truth of what they have seen for long enough to allow them to consider in what way the King's words might best be studied."

The impact of Mr Segundus' article was soon seen. Not only did Childermass begin to hear people speaking of it, but he also happened to meet two people that recognised he and Vinculus for the actors in the tale. The first was a tailor whom they met upon the road, yet it was so cold and windy that day that Vinculus could be prevailed-upon to show the tailor no more than an ankle. For the second (a solicitor they had met at an inn near Darlington), the opposite appeared to be the case and Childermass had some trouble to prevent Vinculus from stripping fully in the middle of the bar (which Childermass latterly found out was due a young and rather handsome-looking serving girl that Vinculus had spied on the other side of the room).

By the time Childermass and Vinculus reached Darlington it seemed that the news of their coming had preceded them, for the meeting of the Darlington Society of Magicians was so crowded with expectant people that one young boy among them fainted.

Newcastle was much the same, though is there anyone so self-important as Newcastle magicians? They think themselves the owners of all to do with the Raven King and were much surprised that a man from _Yorkshire_ might deign to bring the Raven King's own book to them. Here, more than anywhere, the respectable gentleman-magicians held themselves apart from the many other people at the meeting; though Childermass noted that the gentleman-magicians did not seem to mind pushing and shoving and shouting and jostling around Vinculus just as much as did everyone else.

It was while at the Newcastle meeting, standing to one side and watching the throng (with Vinculus in the middle of it, exulting in the uproar) that Childermass found himself thinking back to the behaviour of Mr Segundus when Vinculus had been shown to the York Society. Mr Segundus had held himself back from the rest of the crowd (what a rare thing!) and had instead asked about Childermass' wellbeing; and when Mr Segundus had finally been granted access to Vinculus, he had taken the trouble to be polite and attentive to Vinculus' comfort (despite the fact that Vinculus had then been so drunk that he would not have minded any treatment, rough or no).

As the clamour of the Newcastle magicians grew even louder, Childermass put a hand upon his breast so as to feel the locket beneath his waistcoat: small and smooth and warm.

The next morning, while Vinculus was sleeping off the effects of all he had drunk the night before, Childermass read the latest letter from Mr Segundus. It seemed that word of the Darlington meeting had spread down to York (and from thence to Mr Honeyfoot), and Mr Segundus was keen to know the outcome of the Newcastle meeting. Yet the letter did not end there, for Childermass read:

"I am glad that your journey has reached its fruition, for now, if you keep to your itinerary, I know that you will begin your return to Starecross. Some will doubtless call me selfish for finding happiness in such a thing, but I cannot be persuaded to feel any other way about it. Certainly, if you would like to extend your journey then please do not hold back on my account (for I think it can be said once and for all that separation from you has no ill-effect on my health). And yet I cannot help wishing that you do not want to extend your journey, because, Mr Childermass, I find that I miss you.

"It feels like so long ago that you were last here. And, while I know that one who has stolen so much of your time already has no right to ask for more, would anyone blame me for wishing to once more see a friend and speak with him in person?"

Childermass wasted no time in writing his reply, giving account of the Newcastle meeting and confirming that he would indeed be returning to Starecross. "You are not the only one," wrote he, "that misses the company of a friend."

For the first time, Childermass finally allowed himself to look forward to his return. He imagined meeting Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot in the courtyard in front of Starecross Hall, exactly where he had left them. Mr Segundus would be smiling and waving, his cheeks just a little rosy.

The locket that Mr Segundus had given him (Mr Segundus' heart, of all things!) would perhaps be warmer at again being reunited with its owner. Would Mr Segundus be thinking of the locket just as much as Childermass, as they exchanged greetings in the hall? Childermass liked to think that he would. Perhaps Mr Segundus would mention it the first moment they had alone.

But then, perhaps when alone they might find other things to do. Childermass remembered that first, fervent, trembling kiss that Mr Segundus had laid upon him. He remembered Mr Segundus sitting red-cheeked in his bed and saying, "I have lusts of my own, Mr Childermass."

As Childermass' and Vinculus' return journey began, Mr Segundus' letters took on a very joyful tone. He began making casual mentions of what they might do when Childermass and Vinculus were back: Mr Honeyfoot's wish to study the writing covering Vinculus' heart and stomach (which Mr Honeyfoot fancied might contain text more important than the rest); and Mr Segundus' work on the setting up of his school, which he had started already, but which would greatly benefit (or so he said) from Childermass' advice in many areas. Childermass replied with his assent to all these suggestions and asked, on behalf of Vinculus, that Mr Segundus' housekeeper might be pressed-upon to make one of her pasties for their return.

Slowly, as the days passed, Childermass began to give more and more thought to the time that he and Mr Segundus might spend alone when they found themselves together again. He wondered what experience Mr Segundus had of carnal matters and what acts Mr Segundus might enjoy. He thought of all the times he had seen Mr Segundus undressed: the shape of him; the colour of his skin; his thinness, and frailness, and greying hair.

It was with relief that Childermass thought back on the exchange Mr Segundus had performed, swapping his heart for his soul. How dire things might have turned out if that had not happened! But now Childermass knew that he need not worry: he could no longer control Mr Segundus' actions in any way, and so any interaction they had would be wanted.

Childermass and Vinculus skirted Darlington on their return, for Childermass knew they would be too long delayed if they entered a town in which they had so recently been seen. Even so, Vinculus was recognised on a number of occasions and was asked to show the book he concealed (and when these suggestions came while exposed upon the roadside, Vinculus had now discovered that he no longer objected to undressing in the cold and the wind, so long as the interested party gave him sixpence for his trouble).

The closer that Childermass and Vinculus came to Starecross, the greater grew Childermass' excitement at the prospect of seeing Mr Segundus again. He thought of Mr Segundus' frail form and wondered if he had grown much stronger: if he could now stand and walk unaided. How thin and weak Mr Segundus had been! Had Childermass truly taken this into account back then, when he had been so worried about Mr Segundus' safety? It was good that he had not, for he would otherwise have felt the danger of their situation far more strongly, and the agony of such knowledge would have been unbearable.

As the days and the hours wore on, this thought grew. Childermass found himself considering, many times, Mr Segundus' smallness and weakness. Though Childermass knew that he could no longer harm Mr Segundus, for he could no longer control Mr Segundus' actions, he began to wonder if, all along, controlling Mr Segundus' actions had ever been necessary to harming him? Certainly, it would have been easier when Childermass had Mr Segundus' soul, for Childermass could have ordered Mr Segundus to be quiet and not to struggle. But cannot silence be just as easily obtained by a hand over the mouth? And will struggling ever have any effect against one who is bigger and stronger and determined?

The means had changed, yes, but Childermass began to fancy that perhaps the danger had not.

Oh, but was this really the case? As Childermass lay awake in this inn or that, with Vinculus snoring beside him, Childermass told himself that he did not wish to hurt Mr Segundus and so he would not. Had not Mr Segundus said that Childermass would have hurt him already otherwise? Had there not been many opportunities to hurt Mr Segundus with none of them taken?

And yet. And yet Mr Segundus was so small and easily-overpowered. Childermass might not want to hurt him now, in the light of reason, but what if Mr Segundus kissed him again? What if Childermass became inflamed with lust? It would be the work of a moment to hold him down and ruin all.

"I am sorry," Childermass would say to Mr Segundus' tear-streaked face. "I am sorry that you ever put your trust in me. It was misplaced."

By the time they were but one day away from Starecross, Childermass was torn. He longed to see Starecross, and he longed to see Mr Segundus (and he was sure, from their letters, that Mr Segundus longed to see him), yet he was fearful of doing so. Could it be that Mr Segundus, having escaped a terrible fate for so long, would have it visited upon him now?

Oh, but Mr Segundus was no fool; Childermass knew that. Would Mr Segundus really be so misguided as to place his trust in one who would misuse it? He had even heard Childermass confess to everything he might do, but had not been in the least concerned for his own safety; indeed, Mr Segundus' only response had been to entrust Childermass with _his heart_.

Thus, against the growing fear that he was bringing danger upon Mr Segundus when he could so easily prevent it, Childermass continued his journey on to Starecross.

It was just past noon and the skies were bright when Childermass and Vinculus finally crossed over the packhorse bridge and walked up to the doors of Starecross Hall. There in the courtyard they met a maid, who ran off to fetch her master.

Mr Honeyfoot arrived soon enough, followed by Mr Segundus, who no longer needed to hold onto Mr Honeyfoot's arm for support. Both were wearing wide smiles.

"Welcome! Welcome!" said Mr Segundus happily. "You must be ever so tired from your journey. Please come in and rest."

Yet even though he seemed stronger, Mr Segundus was still thin and frail, and the fond look in his dark eyes filled Childermass at once with gladness in his breast and fear in his stomach.


End file.
